Only Okay
by PeachPolish
Summary: Kurt (who is still in the closet) and Finn move in with Rachel and her out-and-proud roommate Blaine, who is a dance teacher. When Rachel and Finn get engaged, Kurt asks Blaine for some waltzing lessons, but what he gets in return is so much more... However, what will happen if word gets back to Burt? Kurt doesn't want to find out... -homophobic!Burt (Also on LJ and S&C)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

I've only tried to commit suicide four times.

Now, I understand that the definition of "tried to commit suicide" may vary from person to person- but let's just say that I've come relatively close.

Okay, okay, fine. Let me revise that.

I've come _close_ to committing suicide four times.

But I think that I've had good reason to attempt it each time. The only reason I _haven't _done it yet is not that someone has found me and stopped me- I don't want to even _imagine _how awkward that would be- it's that I have been too much of a coward and simply wimp out before I can actually do it.

Actually, I'm a coward about a lot of things. The biggest thing I am a coward about would have to be... I mean if I _had _to pick... then I _suppose_ it would be my sexuality.

(Or lack there of, at this point.)

Girls are just nasty.

... Okay. That's fucked up. That's not what I meant, exactly.

Don't get me wrong. Women have beautiful bodies and if I could surround my self with good female friends, I _would_... But...

But thinking about being with a woman sexually just makes me more flaccid than before I even _started _the whole thought process.

I've tried. Believe me, I've tried _rising to the occasion (_if you know what I mean) but I just end up nauseous and more often than not, crying. It's just not worth it.

And picturing _guys_ that way is just terrifying. I try to the best of my abilities to not feel aroused by men (but sometimes I slip up every once in a while) because being a part of that lifestyle, that "sick, embarrassing, repulsive" lifestyle, as my father so kindly puts it, just isn't an option.

My dad would disown me. He would look at me like I was _nothing_. Like I was just gum under his shoe or- or- I don't even know what.

Or he might hit me. I mean, my dad, Burt, is most certainly not abusive or anything, thank the Lord-I-don't-believe-in. But there was that one time he caught me singing along to "Defying Gravity" alone in my room and just lost his temper...

But that's in the past. Besides, I don't sing anymore anyways, so it's no big deal.

After my mom died, my dad was so unhappy, I just... I just couldn't- can't- bear disappointing him. I don't want him to hurt like that ever again.

But I mainly fear being exiled from my own family.

Which bring me to another reason why I'm a coward.

It's just... For as long I can remember, I've wanted to sing on Broadway.

Or teach a singing class.

Or sing _anywhere_, really.

But my voice is so goddamn high pitched. That same night my dad caught me singing "Defying Gravity" was the night I just _stopped_ using my natural voice. Sure, deepening my voice gets annoying sometimes (_all _the time) and my throat gets sore more often than I'd like, but it just makes things easier. Safer. No need to draw any unnecessary attention to myself, right?

But I miss singing. More importantly, I miss the freedom and undiluted _joy_ that comes along with belting out music and feeling the melody vibrate within my throat.

I haven't sung in... Well, I'm 26 years old. So that would make it 12 years.

Jesus, I haven't sung in almost half of my life... I'm not sure if I should be proud of my own self-discipline or just depressed by how profoundly pathetic I am.

I mean its not like I wasn't presented with viable options.

I wanted to join my high school glee club. I wanted to join it more than anything. But the New Directions were all about discovering yourself and sharing it with others and I just couldn't (can't) afford to be myself. It would ruin everything.

And it's just not _fair._ My stepbrother Finn got to be a member and nobody batted an eye. (At least, not in the way people would bat their eyes at _me_.) He's got _masculine _written all over him. He joins the club, and he's a sensitive, confident, heterosexual man who's comfortable enough in his own skin to do what he loves.

I join the club, and I'm a faggot. To put it nicely.

Why sing with a voice that isn't mine, wearing a style of clothing that isn't mine, to express feelings that aren't mine while I "celebrate my individuality"?

So I just didn't bother joining in the first place.

What was I originally talking about?

Oh right. Suicide.

The first time I tried to commit suicide was when I was fourteen and finally realized that I was gay. It was on a Friday, and I had snuck into my dad's room while he was at the garage and grabbed a Hustler magazine from the stack I knew he hid in the back of his closet.

I flipped through page after page for nearly an hour, trying to get aroused by the variety of women, trying to contradict my newfound discovery, but I just couldn't do it.

Long after I had started crying so hard my head felt like it would crack in half, I went to the kitchen to fill a glass with water and grab some of the strong sleeping pills my dad bought after my mom had died.

For reasons I can't explain, once my fingers closed around the bottle, I started thinking about the guys changing in the locker room earlier that day after PE at school. I thought about the sweat gliding down everyone's chest and how difficult it was to look away and how quickly I had had to turn around to hide my heated face (and growing bulge) before anyone saw...

It wasn't even a second later that I twisted the cap off and dumped at least a dozen and a half pills into my mouth.

My tongue suddenly felt dryer than the Sahara desert so I reached for my cup and slowly poured water past my lips. I remember that I trembled as I felt the liquid trickle between each pill as I let one ease down my throat. It seemed to take an eternity and even though my head was tilted upwards, I couldn't see the ceiling through the new onslaught of tears.

Soon enough I swallowed every single one.

Shaking harder than ever, I screwed the cap back on, and put the bottle away. Then I walked to my room, and moved the magazine back in its hiding place in my dad's closet. I went and sat on my bed for a good fifteen minutes, clenching and unclenching the sheets, staring at my wall, before the panic began to set in.

I leaped off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom down the hall. I skidded on my knees in front of the toilet, shoved three fingers down my throat, and ended up puking my guts out until it got dark outside.

I was asleep by the time my dad got home and the only side effect was that I woke up past noon the next day.

The second time I tried to commit suicide was the night my dad and Finn's mom, Carole, got married. All day I had to sit through a wedding that had been planned by a _professional wedding planner_ even though it was secretly my dream to put together my dad's wedding. The ceremony reminded me that if I were to have a wedding of my own with another guy, my dad wouldn't even bother showing up, he be so ashamed. I had watched all these couples slow dancing at the reception, Finn with Rachel, Mike with Tina, Brittany with Artie, Sam with Quinn, and knew that I could never do that with a person that I loved. And then I hated myself even more for being so self-absorbed that I was unable to able to feel truly happy for my dad.

I eventually snuck into the empty kitchens in the building we were in and stole a knife before I locked myself in a handicapped bathroom because it was an individual room in which I could be alone. I removed my jacket and pushed up my sleeves and proceeded to cut up my arms like a Thanksgiving turkey. (Okay so maybe that's an exaggeration.) After a while I just rocked on the floor for nearly twenty minutes with the knife clenched tightly my fist, waiting for the moment when I manned up enough to make the fatal cuts. But every time I got too close to my wrist and the veins I could see through my papery skin, bile would rise up my throat and my hand would freeze.

After about another ten minutes of cutting carefully around the veins, panic flooded throughout my body _again_ ina flash and I threw the knife on the counter. I stuck my arms under the sink for a few minutes and had to hold paper towels against my cuts for another ten minutes before the bleeding even sort of slowed.

I rinsed the knife off while angry, humiliated tears streamed down my face. I wrapped the bloody tissues in clean tissues to conceal them in the trash can and rolled my sleeves back down and buttoned the cuffs.

I could see faint red lines appearing in the white of my shirt from the cuts that hadn't stopped bleeding yet so I just threw my coat on top and hid everything.

I eventually returned the knife to the kitchen, but when I went back to the big room in which everyone was still enjoying themselves, I collapsed into a chair, too weak to stand up for very much longer, and remained there the rest of the night.

No one had even noticed I was gone.

I threw the ruined shirt away in the trash bin outside once I got home.

The third time I came close to committing suicide was after Finn's glee club won Nationals. Burt, Carole, Finn, and I went out to Breadstix to celebrate once Finn came home from the competition held in New York (my _dream_ city).

All I could think about was my dad slapping me while Wicked lyrics echoed in the background.

How could he look at _Finn _with pride in his eyes for singing _and dancing_ on a stage in front of all those people, when he told _me _that I was a faggot for singing in my own room?

So I asked him when we got home. Finn had gone to Rachel's house and Carole was getting ready for bed.

I didn't have friends to hang with. We were alone in the living room.

"He was in that club before I met Carole. I got no right to tell him to quit now."

"I wasn't asking you to tell him to quit!"

"Don't raise your voice at me!"

"So it's okay for him to sing and not me?"

He knew what I was talking about.

"You were singing a woman's song with that ridiculous, girly voice of yours, what was I supposed to do? It's too late to teach Finn but he has proved himself a good guy. At the time, I was worried you were a bit light in the loafers but I guess you were just late with puberty... Your voice is deeper now and you've turned out okay. I nipped it in the bud... Plus Finn won out of all those other schools. He's bringing honor to the Hummel-Hudson name."

_Okay._

Finn was 'good' and I was only '_okay_.'

And that's when I realized that all of this crap I was doing to make him proud of me- to make him see me as an equal- was always gonna leave me just below Finn in his eyes. I could continue to lower my voice and dress like Finn and watch football with them and work on cars at the shop and suck my lips in a little to hide their fullness all I wanted (which I _didn't_) but I would always be sub-par to the quintessence of the All-American-Boy, Finn Hudson.

I can only bring 'honor to the Hummel-Hudson name' if I bring home a fucking trophy.

Later that night I went for the pills again. And like the first time, the capsules, along with the contents of my stomach, ended up in the toilet.

And the next day life continued the same as always.

The most recent time I tried to kill myself was the first time I had sex with a girl.

If you could even call it that.

It was in my sophomore year of college during spring break. I had ended up going to OSU with Finn as per dad's orders to get a degree in mechanical engineering because the one time I even suggested going to college in New York, my dad looked so horrified I couldn't even finish my argument. (Rachel ended up going to college in New York and somehow she and Finn had/has managed to make the long distance thing work) Finn was my only good friend and I just followed him wherever he wanted to go whenever I wasn't in my room hiding behind books for subjects I had absolutely no interest in. We were at a party for someone I didn't know in a building in Columbus and I downed beer after beer until my vision was blurry and I could barely walk in a straight line.

Some girl (whose giant boobs I remember better than her face) dragged me into a room down the hall of the apartment we were in. And I followed her willingly because I had to try to make things right. My drunk logic convinced me that if I screwed her it would somehow make me straight because guys seem to love sex and if _sex_ was good with girls then I could at least _pretend_ to be straight for rest of my life.

Only it wasn't.

I thought of naked guys to at least get it up enough to give it a go but I wasn't turned on by her and I was just uncomfortable and I ended up faking an orgasm and throwing away the condom before she could see that it was actually empty.

She was probably too drunk to tell either way.

Once she left to join the party again, I stayed behind and crawled out the window onto the fire escape. I walked straight to the edge and climbed over, my heels slotting between the bars, so that I faced away from the building, still hanging with my hands.

It seemed like a pretty good way to go. That feeling of flying before it all ended. It was so dark that no one would even see me drop until it was too late.

I stared at the cars driving past below and wondered about what death itself felt like.

The tears on my cheeks were too hot and the wind dried up the salt water tracks almost as soon as they appeared, making my skin unpleasantly tight. But I couldn't wipe them away without letting go of the railing.

In the end, that's what I blamed it on.

After another twenty minutes I got so frustrated with my tears (ironically eliciting _more_) and my arms were shaking from holding on so long and so tightly, that I hauled myself over again and dropped unceremoniously to the metal floor. I scrubbed my face furiously to the point where my skin turn red and raw and I sat there for what felt like hours until Finn called me to tell me that one of his friends was gonna give us a ride home.

And when I finally got back to my room at four in the morning, I had never loathed myself more. That was the fourth fucking time I was too much of a coward do anything other than complain about the shitty life I had chosen to live. Am still living.

Anyways, after college, Finn and I moved into an apartment together as roommates/brothers. And we stayed there together, working in the shop with my dad for years.

Like I said, I'm 26 now. And I haven't tried anything as drastic as suicide in seven years.

I think that after the fourth failure I just realized that that schtick was getting old. The more I think about it the more I realize that they were just pitiful semi-attempts that don't mean anything. Clearly I can't do it, so what's the point in getting all worked up over things I can't change?

Doesn't mean I'm not disgusted with myself. Doesn't mean I don't hate my father for reducing me to piece of shit I am today. Doesn't mean I don't secretly resent Finn for always being the favorite, despite how much I've grown to love him as my brother...

Doesn't mean that I'm not pathetic enough to actually have nothing better to do than to think about all of this as I'm getting ready for work this morning.

"Come on, Kurt, we're gonna be late! You know how Dad gets when we're late!" Finn shouts from outside my door.

"I'm coming!" I yell back.

I plaster that fake smile on my face, the grin I've used so often that sometimes I mistake it for my genuine one, and head out to my dead-end job at Hummel's Tires and Lube.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

"You're late." Are the first words that come out of Dad's mouth the moment Finn and I step into Hummel's Tires and Lube.

"Sorry, Burt, Kurt was taking forever to get ready." Finn says. _I_ know he's only joking but that look, that eternally disappointed look on my Dad's face doesn't seem to know it.

"Kurt, you know what time the shop opens and you know what time I need you guys here. You gotta stop being married to your mattress and start being more responsible."

"I didn't sleep in." I say. _I don't sleep much at all, actually._

"Then what took you so long?"

"I was just... lost in my own thoughts, I guess."

Dad's gaze shifts into confusion right in front of me before his other infamous look kicks in. The one he saves just for me, whenever I've said something odd. He doesn't ask me about it, just seems to silently accept the fact that I am not like the rest of them. That I am just _off_ somehow.

"... Right. Look, Finn, I got a couple of cars lined up for you to take a look at, so why don't you get started? Kurt, I have some paperwork that needs filing, think you can handle that?" Dad asks as I turn around to reach for my coveralls in my employee locker.

"Should I even bother putting on coveralls today?" I mutter. He never lets me work on the fucking cars anymore. He's got Finn's here to do that now.

"Probably not." Dad says without much thought.

"I am perfectly capable of fixing cars, why am I always on paper duty?" I ask, facing the row of lockers.

"Look, Kurt, you should thank me. You're getting paid just as much as Finn for doing less than half the labor he does."

"But I can _do_ the labor!" I turn around to face my dad but he has already walked away toward the other side of the shop with Finn.

I sigh and close the office door behind me.

* * *

"Hey, Kurt, wanna play Mario Kart?" Finn asks contentedly, settling onto the couch with a bowl of chips.

_This is actually the high point of my life._

"Sure, man." I say. My clear my throat, it stings a bit from deepening my voice so often.

I sit next to him and pick up a controller. Player number 2, as usual.

We are about ten minutes into playing when Finn's phone buzzes from it's resting place on the coffee table.

Finn leans over to look at the screen.

"Oh, it's Rachel. I better take that." He says, picking up his cell.

I pause the game without saying anything and lie back on the couch as Finn walks into his room, phone pressed up against his ear. I can hear Rachel's shrill voice pouring out of the phone speaker the entire time until he closes the door behind himself.

I stick my hand into my pocket and glide my fingers across the cool metal of my Swiss Army knife. I pull it out for a moment and stare at it. I flip out the bottle opener and the scissors and the blade, just looking at the shiny metal reflecting the lamp light. I haven't cut myself since my dad's wedding night, but I think about it all the time. Having the knife in my pocket reminds that I _can_ do it. If I ever choose to. It helps me feel the tiniest bit of control and sometimes even accomplishment, I suppose. Each day I don't cut myself is a day in which I rose above my situation and came out on top.

Sort of. I guess I always come out on top if I'm the one I'm battling...

Suddenly Finn's door slams opens, jolting me upright as I shove the knife back to normal and into my pocket.

"What?!" I yell at Finn. I turn around to yell at him for scaring the shit out of me; however, I stop short when I see the expression on his face. He looks so... joyous and excited.

"Rachel and I have been talking about it for a while and, well, we're gonna move in together. As in, in the same state. _Finally_."

"You're moving to New York?" I ask, my heart plummeting. As much as my dad's profuse love for him irritated me, if Finn left, I'd be all alone. I might even actually _miss_ him.

"Yeah! Burt has so many more guys at the shop now, he doesn't need both of us to keep the business going anymore."

"That... great. I'm really happy for you." I put on my best fake smile. At least one of us is getting out of here.

_Stop thinking about yourself. This is huge for Finn._

"You mean happy for _us._" Finn grins.

"Huh?"

"Rachel invited you to move in with us too."

My heart soars for a moment, before it falls dead again. I always have to look for a way out of my own happiness.

"Finn... That's really cool of you guys, but I don't wanna be the third wheel all the time."

"You won't be."

"Actually, Finn, there are three of us. So yeah, I would." I really don't want to be that awkward single guy that unknowingly crashes all of their couple time by simply existing in relatively close proximity.

"No. Rachel has a roommate. She met him at NYADA. They're like, best friends. She said his name is Blaine."

"Rachel has been living with another guy for last few years?" Finn nods. "I hate to break it to you, Finn, but that sounds kinda... sketchy."

"Naw, she wouldn't cheat on me. He's gay."

"Oh." Well shit.

"But don't worry about that, bro."

"Why would I worry about that?" I asked, suddenly defensive.

"Well, I mean... Living with a gay dude... Could get kinda weird..."

_If only you knew._

"Well, I don't care as long as I can get out of Lima..." Finn awkwardly half-smiles at my statement. "Thank you, Finn. Would you be alright with me living with you guys? I mean- you're not sick of me yet?" I asked, forcing a smirk onto my face.

"Of course not! We're brothers from another mother." Finn said, holding his fist out.

... _I'm just gonna pretend he didn't say that._

I pound his fist back and crack a smile.

* * *

It's Friday night dinner.

Finn and Dad are in the living room watching football while Carole and I are in the kitchen cooking.

Well, she's cooking and I am pretending to meekly help her, out of courtesy.

If they knew how well I actually cook, Dad and Finn would laugh at me. Like they did last time I tried to bake something. I could help Carole out if I wished but knowing how to prepare full course meals? That was a too bit fem for their tastes.

And Lord knows I don't have the balls to actually do what I enjoy.

I look up at Carole from where I am chopping carrots and see a pitying look in her eye.

She always looks at me like that. Like I am just sad and pathetic.

Soon enough, dinner is ready and Finn and Dad finally decide to grace us with their presence.

Dinner goes as usual. Finn and Dad talk over each other until the loudest person dominates the conversation, while Carole smiles politely and laughs at the right moments, and I just sit there with my head parallel to my plate. I used to try to engage in the dinner talk but anything I have to say just gets drowned out.

I guess Dad finally noticed the fact that I haven't spoken during dinner for last decade of my life, because he suddenly says,

"Kurt, why do you even come over during family time if you never contribute to the conversation?"

Some family.

_Because I get interrupted or ignored every time I open my goddamn mouth._

"Don't worry, this'll be one of the last dinners I'll eat with you for a while." I mumble. _Hopefully ever._

I glance up to see Carole's sad expression. Part of me wants to glare at her for pitying me but the other part just wants to open up to her.

I turn away from her and look at my food.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dad exclaims.

"Burt, honey, calm down." Carole murmurs.

"No. Kurt, look at me when I'm talking to you."

I slowly, shamefully raise my eyes.

_He still commands me like I'm a child. And I still listen._

I glare at him, my mouth in a thin line.

"I said don't worry I won't be here to bother you much longer." I overly enunciate every syllable.

"Don't talk to me like that." He says darkly.

The tension in the room is palpable. So naturally Finn steps in to save the fucking day.

"Actually, Burt, I can explain this one."

Dad turns to Finn and the hard lines etched into his face disappear as if they were never there.

"Rachel asked me to move in with her."

Dad smiles that happy smile he only ever directs at people that aren't me.

"Well that's great! I always knew you were meant for things bigger than Lima..." Dad says, patting Finn on the shoulder while pointedly not looking at me. Carole is grinning with surprise and joy as well. "But what does that have to do with Kurt?"

"He's coming with me."

His face hardens instantaneously and he snaps his head toward me again.

"You're making his girlfriend let you stay in her home? That's not fair to them, Kurt."

My jaw goes slack.

"No, no, I invited him." Finn interjects before I can respond. "Well, I asked Rachel first, of course, but she agreed. Didn't take any convincing or anything."

"Why?" Dad sneered. It was like a slap to the face.

"Why not? He's my brother." Finn smiles at me. I can feel my heart warming for the first time in a while. I smile at Finn, a real smile. It almost feels foreign on my face. But I make the effort for him. He's defending me.

My happiness is short-lived, however.

"That doesn't mean he has the right to impose on your personal life."

"He wouldn't be imposing."

"Look, Finn, you moving in with your girlfriend is a big step. You don't need to babysit him all the damn time-"

The _screech!_ of my chair sliding across the floor startles everyone as I stand up. I want to meet my dad's eyes, act defiant and strong, but I feel too humiliated. My face feels like it's going to burst into flames and I can't make my fists, resting on the table, unclench. When the silence becomes too much to bear, I make a beeline for the front door and shut it behind me before they can see me panic.

I take our car and drive straight home.

Once I get inside, I go to my room, and pull out pajamas- with long sleeves, to cover up my scars- and rip my hideous clothes off my body, throwing each once forcefully onto my floor, every article of clothing making a loud _smack! _as it hits the hardwood surface.

I pad into our bathroom with purposeful steps, and twist the hot water nozzle almost all the way, with only the barest hint of cold added in.

I step into the shower, and the steady flow of water is so hot my skin is turning red and raw and the steam is making it both hard to see and to breathe but I don't care.

And it's then, and only then, that I allow myself to cry.

* * *

I'm not sure when Finn got home but by the time I get out of the shower a long while later, Finn is in the living room, waiting for me. I guess Carole or Dad must have given him a ride.

"Hey, are you okay, dude?"

"I'm fine." I mutter as I towel my hair dry while walking toward my room.

"Hold on, Kurt." Finn steps in front of me.

"_What_?"

"I didn't invite you to live with us so that I could babysit you."

"Wonderful, 'cause I'm older than you." I try to shoulder my way past him.

"And I didn't do it out of pity. You just seem really down lately."

Lately_? Where have you _been_ for last decade?_

"I don't need you feeling sorry for me."

"I just said that I don't. I wanna get you out of whatever funk you're in and I think New York might just be the way to do it."

"Thanks for your concern."

"Come on, Kurt. I'm trying to be nice."

I sigh.

"I know." I say quietly.

"So... Will you still move in with us? Don't listen to Burt, he's just overreacting."

_No. He's reacting the way he always does._

I nod. I don't want to give Dad the satisfaction of watching me stay behind.

* * *

It isn't until a few weeks later, while I'm packing up all of my things, that I realize that I only own one item that is actually important to me in any way.

A christmas ornament made out of my mother's perfume bottle. I had only been able to grab one bottle before dad put all her stuff into storage. And I've never even hung it up. I was always too scared of what my dad would think. Would he have thought it was a sweet reminder of her memory or would he have been weirded out that his son wanted to keep a woman's perfume bottle?

Nobody knows it exists except me.

I had put it in a shoebox along with the other things I want to keep hidden.

I open the box now and peer into it. My eyes roam over the perfume ornament and the Broadway CD's.

That's it. Those are the only things in which I allow myself to indulge.

It doesn't take long to pack up the rest of my things. I don't have much anyway.

* * *

It's a few weeks later and Finn, Carole, Dad, and I are at the airport.

And, I gotta say, I'm actually a little sad to leave.

Despite all the resentment and pain I've felt all these years, I think I'm gonna miss my dad. I've lived within walking distance of him my entire life, and we actually did have a fairly good relationship before I discovered I'm gay. We were really close before- as close as any father and son could be- and nothing can erase _those_ memories.

Maybe it's _because_ of those memories that he can hurt me so easily, sometimes without even intending to.

I still can't tell half the time if he's being malicious or just tactless.

"Finn, keep your brother out of trouble, all right?" Dad tells Finn with a serious look.

Like now, for instance.

_What the hell is he talking about?_

"Wow, with all of this babysitting and looking out for me, when will he ever get to see Rachel?" I tease, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

"I know he'll be able to handle it." Dad says with a grin, clapping Finn on the shoulder before hugging him. Is he praising Finn or joshing us? _Probably both._

Carole squeezes me like she is trying to crush all of the air out of me in one go. Once again, her behavior is confusing. Is she patronizing me or will she actually miss me? _Why am I always questioning everything around my family?_

Just as Finn embraces Carole as well, I can hear them announcing our flight over the intercom.

"Well, off with you. Don't wanna be late, do ya?!" Dad says with a shove at both of our backs.

Dad starts leaving as Carole tells us she loves us and to call her when we land.

As we stand in line, I stare hard at the ground, willing myself to stop thinking about the fact that my dad just left without hugging me goodbye.

* * *

**_Reviews are awesome..._**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**_(BLAINE'S POV)_**

"Rachel, why didn't you tell me you invited Finn to move in?!" I yell.

"I figured you wouldn't mind!"

"There's barely enough space as it is!"

"Is that why you're always hiding out in your studio?" Rachel says with a smirk.

"I'm not 'hiding out,' I'm a _teacher._ I have to choreograph routines and Lord knows there's no room here for that! Which is why I don't understand how adding another person- someone who very well may be classified as a _giant-_ would be a good idea."

"We've been together for so _long_, Blaine. And Finn doesn't have to work so hard at his step-dad's shop anymore, they've hired so many more people. We just figured, the time is now. We want to be together."

I sigh, not knowing how to respond to that. So instead I ask about something that I've just never quite understood.

"Why have you guys waited so long, anyways? Doesn't Finn have a brother or something? Why hasn't _he_ been running Burt's shop?"

"He has a stepbrother. But Burt doesn't trust him with anything."

There's a pause.

"... Why not?"

Rachel's face smooths over, as thought she's never thought about it before.

"Hm. You know, Finn's never really said."

I frown in thought, studying Rachel's expression. She looks twitchy and nervous. A feeling of dread washes over me as I wait for her to continue.

"Um... Speaking of Finn's brother... I invited him as well."

My jaw drops. _Is she insane?_

I voice my thought.

"_No._" Rachel defends herself. "I just... I feel bad. From what Finn's told me, Kurt has never really had any friends besides him. I figured it would be kinda cruel to leave him alone in Ohio."

"Why doesn't he have any friends? You're making him sound kind of creepy..."

A stepbrother who has no friends and who's own father doesn't even trust him? _I do _not _like the sound of that._

"He's not creepy, he's just... Socially awkward." Rachel's mouth twists a little.

"Hm." I think for a moment. Delicately, I ask, "Does he have something? Some kind of condition?"

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

"I just- I don't know how I feel about this. I've never even met him. And I don't _really_ know Finn for that matter..."

"Well _I've_ met his brother once or twice on holidays, when he used to show up. And I used to pass by him sometimes in the halls at McKinley. He was pretty cute, Blaine."

"Cute... and gay?" My eyebrows furrow. _Is that what she's getting at? 'Cause that was a horrible lead up..._

Rachel frowns in sympathy.

"No. Just cute."

_Every time_.

"Damn." I say with a straight face.

Rachel cracks a smile, and we both chuckle a bit.

"So... What do you say?" She asks seriously.

I pause for a moment to keep her in suspense. But she's looking at me with these bright, hopeful eyes and I just _can't_ tell her that her boyfriend ("The love of my life!") can't move in with us.

"Okay, fine, fine. As long as I'm not the one who has to move out when you realize how cramped it's gonna get in here." I sigh with a defeated grin. Rachel claps her hands and smiles so wide it nearly splits her face in half. "What's Finn's brother's name? When are they moving in?" I ask.

"His name is Kurt. And we're supposed to pick them up from the airport in..." Rachel pushes up her sleeve and squints at her wristwatch. "A few hours."

"Rachel!" I look around the apartment frantically. "There's no time to prepare now!"

"Sorry! I just didn't know how to tell you they were coming!"

"So you just waited until the day _of_? What if I had said 'no'?"

"Ah, but I knew you _wouldn't_ say 'no.' At least, not in the end."

My eyes narrow.

"I'm not a pushover, Rachel."

She puts her hands up in a defensive gesture.

"I'm not saying you are. I just know that you're sweet. And kind. And generous, and _handsome_-"

"Alright, now you're just pushing it." I work very hard to restrain the smile that's trying to break free- and fail miserably.

She laughs at me.

"I'm really happy for you guys. Are you excited?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

Rachel scrunches her face up in giddy enthusiasm.

"_So_ excited!"

Now it's my turn to laugh at (and with) her.

"That's great! I'm gonna walk to the studio- I got a class in half an hour. Can you pick me up before you head over to the airport?" I question.

"Sure. I'll clean this place up a little and text you when I'm about to leave the apartment... Around 5:30?"

"Cool, thanks." I say, picking my bag up off the floor, and heading outside. I need to clear my head before I meet the new arrivals.

* * *

"Alright guys, once more from the top!" I announce, pushing 'play' on the stereo. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight..." I chant, dancing at the front of the room. After a few bars, I stop and begin walking between rows. "Amy, point your toes, you keep forgetting." I gesture at her feet as I pass by. "Marcus, loosen up- your moves are a bit stiff..." I walk around the room and make corrections on autopilot.

Eventually, I make my way back to the front of the room. I attempt to smooth my hair down but the sweat just makes the gel watery so I remove my hands to prevent it from dripping.

_Not bad, not bad_... I think to myself as I watch my class, smiling a little. Some of my students have come a long way.

Soon enough, the song is over.

"Remember to hold your positions at the end- don't just relax immediately. It makes it look better. Plus, you get to bask in the applause for a few moments..." I wink. "The show is in less than two months and I want it to be perfect."

Everyone's eyes light up at the mention of the impending recital.

I take out my phone and check the time.

"Oh, shit. I kept you guys late." I say, furrowing my eyebrows.

"What time is it?" Dulce asks.

"It's quarter after 5. Sorry, guys." Quite a few eyebrows raise and everyone disperses to gather their things and leave. "Practice the routine this weekend, alright?"

"Bye, Mr. Anderson!" "Have a good weekend, Sir!" "See you next week, Mr. A!"

The chorus of voices fills my ears as, one after another, each student heads out the door.

As soon as the studio is empty, I walk over to my bag and take out a small towel. I dry the sweat on my neck, swipe the towel across my forehead, and pat down my hair with it until I feel somewhat cleaner. I plop down onto the floor and slip on a pair of sneakers.

It's the middle of March and it's freezing outside. I'm really glad I put on my warmest sweatpants this morning...

I slip my arms into a thick hoodie and slide a beanie over my curls. I'm just picking up my bag again to head out when Rachel pokes her head inside the room.

"Hey, ready to go?" She asks, barely able to contain her excitement.

I nod.

"Relax, we'll see your man soon enough." I chuckle, shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and following her out the door.

* * *

"I don't see them. How can I not see them? Finn would have to be the tallest one in here!" Rachel huffs.

"I'm not sure... It said they landed already." I tell her, pushing up onto my toes to see above the heads of the people in front of me, to no avail.

"Well how do we know where to find them?"

"How should I know? You're the one who flies back to Ohio every god forsaken holiday. Shouldn't you be an expert by now?" I ask. Rachel always travels back to Ohio for the holidays because Finn and both of their families are there- it's just easier. Meanwhile, my family, who live all over, - Cooper in California and my parents wherever work or vacation requires them to be- all congregate in our (empty without Rachel) New York apartment.

Plus, I'm terrified of flying. So there's that.

"Yeah, but I'm always the one _arriving. _I never pick up _other_ people." Rachel frowns.

I appear to have the same problem.

"I feel really stupid right now. Has Finn tried to call you yet?"

"Oh! I didn't even think of that!" Rachel exclaims, whipping out her phone. My eyes narrow, because_really_? "Shit! He says they're at baggage claim already."

Rachel spins on her heel and heads in that direction, without waiting for me to follow her.

I run to catch up.

_I guess they arrived early._

Soon Rachel's face erupts into a huge grin. I follow her line of sight and see Finn's face mirroring her expression. Rachel takes off running, and for a moment a imagine Road Runner's signature cloud of dust behind her. I smirk slightly at my own joke before I realize that that probably looks creepy, so I school my expression into one of excitement.

Rachel almost manages to mow Finn down (which is no small feat for someone of her petite size) as they embrace, ending it with a hard kiss. Once they part, I move to shake Finn's hand, slapping an arm around his back in a guy hug.

"Hey man, good to see you again." I smile. I've only seen him a handful of times over the years when he managed to visit Rachel for a short weekend every once in a while.

"Yeah, you too." Finn grins warmly back.

"Oh! And Kurt!" Rachel exclaims. It's only then that I notice the person standing slightly behind Finn, almost using him as a shield.

But, as I've come to learn over time, nothing can protect you from Rachel Berry.

She darts right behind Finn and squeezes the guy in a warm hug, one he is clearly not expecting. "Thanks for letting me tag along." He says quietly her.

"No need to thank me, you're Finn's brother! You're more than welcome to stay with us."

Kurt's face twitches a little unpleasantly at the sentiment, and my eyebrows furrow. I wonder what that's about...

He soon recovers, however, and smiles at her before stepping back. She turns back around to focus on Finn.

It's then that I get a good look at him. He's taller than me by a couple of inches, and lean, with chestnut hair than falls into his eyes, but he makes no move to push it away. He's wearing jeans and a thick, grey, zip-up jacket that looks a little too big. His body appears to be curled in on itself, his shoulders scrunched, his face closed off, and his mouth in a thin line. His whole demeanor seems cautious and a little awkward, quite frankly, like he doesn't know how he should hold himself.

So I make the first move, extending my arm and offering him a hand to shake. He looks me up and down. I can't quite tell from his expression whether he's judging me or sizing me up, but before I can start to feel a tad insulted, he reaches forward and clasps my hand, shaking it.

"Hey, my name's Blaine." I say.

"Kurt." He nods, looking away as soon we drop hands.

_He can't quite make eye contact with anyone but Finn._ He's looking around the room, eyes not resting on anything for more than a second, unsure of what to do.

"Are you ready to go? Did you guys get your bags?" Rachel asks Finn, who nods and gestures toward his carryon and his suitcases.

"We sold our furniture, but we're having to rest our stuff shipped over." Finn elaborates. "Only brought the essentials."

I look back at Kurt, who only has a single, small, rolling suitcase. I frown for a second but say nothing.

"You need help with that?" I ask, trying to be courteous.

He shakes his head looking almost offended.

"I can handle it." He says quietly.

I nod and grab one of Finn's. Finn, following my lead, takes hold of the other two, and the four of us head out to the parking complex.

We put all of the bags in the truck, and just as I'm walking back around the side of the car, Finn lays a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, dude? Do you mind if I sit shotgun? My legs don't really fit well in the backseat and we were just cramped in an airplane for a while-"

"Oh, yeah, of course." I nod. Man, I've never really thought about how annoying it must be for people who need extra leg room all the time just to be comfortable.

I look to the driver's seat but Rachel's already situated herself there, smiling once again at Finn.

I sigh and open the door to the backseat. I slide in smoothly and look over to see Kurt already there, mouth twisted apologetically.

"Sorry." He says.

"For what?" I question, tilting my head to the side. _Is he sorry that I have to sit next to him or sorry on Finn's behalf...?_

He shrugs his shoulders slightly and looks away.

_He's so odd._

As we start driving away from the airport, Rachel turns on the radio. Kurt's head remains turned toward the window, so I just look at him for a little while.

He's pretty stiff, sitting ramrod straight with his hands folded in his lap. But after a minute he seems to check himself or something, his body drooping all of a sudden with his legs apart. After his knee starts bouncing for a few moments, he crosses his legs, but right as he's about to clasp his hand around them, he immediately drops the pose, moving into a slouch yet again.

I turn toward the front again, listening in to Rachel and Finn's conversation about New York for a minute before the song on the radio changes.

I can literally feel the energy shift in the car before Rachel exclaims, "Oh, this is our song!"

Finn turns the volume up a bit, and I can hear the beginning of _Paradise by the Dashboard Light_playing through the speakers.

I smile confusedly. "_This_ is your song?"

Finn turns around in his seat to face me.

"Hell yeah! Rachel and I won _Nationals_ with this!"

I notice a slight movement in the corner of my vision and turn to see that Kurt's back has gone rigid, his hands clenched in tight fists.

I look back at Finn and smile.

"Ugh! _We_ should have won Regionals against you guys! That should have been us!"

"You were in show choir? What group?" Finn asks.

"Dalton Academy Warblers." I state proudly.

"Oh come on! You beat us at Regionals the year before. You guys had your chance."

I smile ruefully. Vocal Adrenaline had been tough that year. We'd gone home with third place.

"Dear God, Blaine and I have had this conversation a _million_ times. He's still bitter." Rachel laughs.

"I have every right to be! I killed that number. It was unforgettable."

"Maybe if you guys had worked more as a team, instead of you taking the lead all the time-"

I huff, incredulous.

"Don't _even_ start, Rachel Berry. You are the _queen-_ no- the _empress_ of hogging solos."

Finn nods his head in agreement. I give him a look.

From what I've heard from Rachel, he was nearly as bad.

Finn puts his hands up in surrender, and we laugh.

Rachel and Finn start singing along to the song in earnest. I am about to join in myself, but all of a sudden I feel a pair of eyes on me. I turn my head and find my suspicions confirmed.

I meet Kurt's gaze. I smile awkwardly him, to which he responds, "You're from Ohio?"

He's so quiet I can barely hear him over the music.

"What?"

"You said you guys competed at Regionals. You're from Ohio, then?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. I am. You are too." Why do I feel like such idiot?

_'Cause you're _being_ an idiot. Oh course he's knows he's from fucking Ohio._

Kurt smirks the tiniest bit and nods, breaking eye contact and facing forward.

Kurt absentmindedly reaches into his pocket and takes out a what appears to be a Halls cough drop. When he unwraps it, I can see that it's "mixed berry" flavored. He pops it into his mouth and stuffs the wrapper back into his pocket. For a few seconds I can't stop looking at how his cheeks hollow as he sucks on it. My eye widen when I realize I'm staring and I instantly turn away. I'm wearing sweatpants; ergo, if I get even the _slightest_ bit aroused, everyone will be able to tell.

_Don't be ridiculous. It's a fucking cough drop. He's probably sick or something._

Jesus Christ, I'm desperate.

He's straight. If we're going to be living together, everything will fall to shit if I scare the crap out of him before he even walks in the door.

* * *

**_Reviews = love_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

I just really want my pocket knife.

I buried it in my suitcase for the flight here so that it wouldn't get confiscated. But now I want it back. I want to feel the cold, smooth metal in my palm and run my fingers across the glossy red exterior.

But it's not like I can just tell Finn's girlfriend to pull over because I need to get to my pocket knife. They'll all look at me like I'm crazy and I _hate_ it when people look at me like I'm crazy.

Plus, my throat hurts again from the constant switch from talking with my fake deep voice to not talking for a long time to going right back to using that god awful voice again. My pocket is full of Halls cough drop wrappers and I have this itching need to throw them all away but there isn't a trash can anywhere near me.

So my fingers are all twitchy and my throat aches and my anxiety levels are phenomenally high and I _really_ want my fucking pocket knife.

Plus, Finn and Rachel won't stop singing stupid songs from their stupid glee club I was too weak to join.

And Rachel's creepy roommate won't stop staring at me.

I feel super uncomfortable when people stare at me, and I keep hoping that if I look out the window hard enough, maybe he'll get bored and look at something else. But Blaine is having none of that so I just take out a cough drop to sooth my throat and start sucking on it because I have nothing else to do.

I put yet another tiny little wrapper in my pocket, and, for some inexplicable reason, _that's_ when he turns his head away.

_Finally._

Only now his face is practically pressed up against the window, one leg now crossed over the other, clearly in some desperate attempt to get as far away from me as possible.

I keep trying to meet his eye again because I feel like I've somehow done something wrong even though I haven't done anything at all. Does he think I'm ill or something?

But maybe I have done something.

God, are my social skills so off now that I don't even know when I'm being weird anymore?

Suddenly I can't tell what's worse. Scrutinization or alienation. Scrutinization makes me feel unclean and awkward but I've faced alienation my entire life and I was sort of hoping the people in New York would be different.

But maybe not. Maybe I'll just be a black sheep wherever I go.

I feel this heavy, sinking feeling in my chest that I know is a bit irrational (which somehow just makes it _worse_) and I am so consumed by own self-pity that I don't even know how long we've been driving by the time Rachel announces, "We're here!" way too enthusiastically.

The apartment building looks pretty nice to me, but then again, even a cardboard box on the street would look nice to me, as long it was situated in a state other than Ohio.

We park and gather the luggage from the trunk. While everyone else is focused on getting Finn's heavy suitcases safely out onto the pavement, I unzip the the top of my own. I plunge my hand inside and dig around until I can feel the object I've been craving so much. I look up and make sure no one is watching me, before I quickly pull out the glorious pocketknife and jam it into my pocket. My pulse is racing way too fast over something this stupid and it makes me feel even more pathetic than I already do on most days.

I squeeze the metal; instant relief rushes through my body and my heart begins to pump slower.

Control. I can control my life.

I lift my head up and see that everyone is making their way inside. I quickly scramble to keep up, and soon enough we are in the elevator, heading upward.

The four bags plus the four of us makes it quite cramped, and I'm nearly shoved up against the sliding doors. The elevator music is absurd and really quite comical. I suppress the urge to laugh because I don't know if the others will understand what is so funny to me. I don't want to have to explain it.

Soon enough the doors _ding! _and slide open, and I stumble a bit in my attempt to not fall on my face. I'm not sure if the others noticed or even cared but I keep my head down and my flushed face out of sight.

We walk down the hall and I keep my eyes trained on the back of Rachel's feet so that I know where to go. I hear a jingle of keys and then the door is being opened and Rachel is shouting, "Here we are!"

I pick my head up and look around the living room as we all shuffle inside.

"Finn's staying with you, right?" Blaine asks Rachel.

"Of course," She smiles. "You guys can just put his suitcases in there." She gestures toward the open door to her room.

A moment later, Blain emerges, muttering, "Gotta use the bathroom."

He walks over to another door on the other side of the room, and closes it behind him.

This just leaves Rachel and me standing here awkwardly. Having seen the entrance to Rachel's room and to the bathroom, I can't help but notice that there is only one more door, which I'm guessing must be Blaine's room.

"Um, Rachel?" I ask quietly. Her eyes meet mine. "Where am I gonna stay?" My hand, still holding the handle of my suitcase, is slick with sweat.

"Well, we have a pullout couch, and since we don't have any extra guest rooms or anything, I was thinking you could sleep there?" She phrases it like a question, like she isn't sure how I'm going to react. I'd been so caught up in _getting the hell out of Lima_ that I didn't even bother asking if there was enough space to fit me in.

I realize that the only time I will ever get any privacy from now on is when I'm in the bathroom.

It feels as though my heart has fallen into my stomach, but before I can feel the panic rise in my throat, a voice in my head- one that sounds surprisingly like my dad's- says _What in god's name do you need privacy for anyway? It's not like you ever do anything._

I nod my head at Rachel's anxious expression. "Sure. This is great." I force a smile onto my face, one that she reciprocates.

"We bought a pullout couch when we first moved in here mainly 'cause Blaine's brother crashes here whenever he's in town for work or the holidays or whatever." Rachel's babbling as she adjusts and readjusts the folded up blankets and pillow that are already resting on the arm of the couch. "So, um, here are your sheets and stuff-"

Blaine emerges from the bathroom and stands next to Rachel, bouncing absentmindedly on the balls of his feet.

All of a sudden Finn walks out of Rachel's (their?) room with a fresh shirt on, saying, "So what are we gonna do tonight?"

"There's this great pizza place down the block Rachel said she thought you'd enjoy." Blaine offers.

"Oh, good, I'm starving." Finn grins, patting his stomach.

"So, pizza it is, then?" Blaine angles his face in my direction. "Kurt, is that alright with you?" Blaine asks me. However, I'm not expecting being addressed full on and I can't remember the question.

"Sorry?"

"You good with pizza?" He asks again, patiently.

"Oh, um, yeah."

He grins not unkindly at me, seeming to sense my nerves. He then addresses the room at large.

"Cool. Well I gotta change out of my sweats first, then do you guys wanna head out?" Blaine asks. Everyone nods in agreement, and Blain disappears into his room.

I want to change as well. I feel sweaty and grimy, despite the fact that it's cold outside and I showered this morning. I plop down onto the couch and rummage through my own suitcase, tuning out Rachel and Finn and whatever they're now talking about.

I sigh softly. All I brought with me are t-shirts, jeans, and flannel button-ups. They're the only clothes I own.

I grab a white t-shirt and green flannel shirt, and a comb, deciding to keep on my jeans and use my grey hoodie as an extra layer to ward off the chill.

I make a beeline for the bathroom to get dressed.

I put the clothes on the toilet seat and turn to the sink. I twist the warm water on. While I wait for it to heat up, I grab a small face towel from the neatly folded stack on the counter. When I like the temperature of the water, I put the material under the stream and soak it. I turn the faucet off, and wring out any excess water, before leaning forward and pressing the whole towel onto my face.

I let the warmth seep into my skin and breathe in the moist air.

_Inhale, exhale._ It's strangely calming.

After a minute or two, I remove the towel and squeeze the remaining water out of it, before hanging it onto the rack that was currently sporting larger towels.

I dress quickly and comb my hair flat, parting it so that my bangs don't cover up my eyes.

I don't eat out with friends. I only ever eat with Finn or my parents. Finn is quite a talker and my dad tends to discreetly ignore me so I can usually get by without saying much.

What if they expect me to speak a lot? Or contribute interesting things to the conversation? I'm not entirely sure I can do that. What would I bring to the table? I never do anything noteworthy. What if they think my opinions are stupid? What if they don't care about my opinions at all?

Oh God, maybe I should just tell them that I really _am _sick. I should just stay here.

_Who needs pizza anyways? Not me._

Maybe if I remain in here long enough, I can get away with pretending to puke. Food poisoning, perhaps? Would they believe that? Maybe I could-

There's a soft knock on the door, followed by a "Hey, Kurt?"

_Blaine_.

"Yeah?" I answer on instinct, but I use my regular voice by accident, and it cracks from being suppressed for so long. Fuck. Fucking reflex reaction. Fucking dumb shit can't do anything right-

"Sorry to bother, but my hair gel's in there. You think you can slip it through the door?"

I'm being stupid. _Are you too much of an idiot that you can't even eat a meal with people? Get your shit together. This is what normal people do._

"Y-Yeah, I was just leaving." I stammer, scanning the counter. When I find no sign of gel, I open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, and to my relief spot the recognizable brand instantly. I grab the container and close the cabinet. I gather my discarded clothing in one swift motion.

"No rush-" Blaine starts but I've already opened the door before he's finished his sentence.

I hold up the container questioningly, staring at his surprised face.

"Yeah, that's it." Blaine reaches for it. Our fingers brush for a split second during the exchange and I flinch noticeably, the way I always do when faced with human contact.

Flushed and embarrassed, I shoulder past him without another word, going straight to my bag to put away my stuff.

I regret combing my bangs back. I'd like them to cover my face right now.

For a moment the air is stagnant, as I wait for him to taunt me or make some kind of joke about how unfamiliar I am with real social interaction, like how my dad does, like it's somehow hilarious. The kind where I laugh along even though I don't find it funny at all, and my dad _knows_ I don't and that just makes him laugh harder.

But nothing happens. The door just closes quietly, and that's that.

My eyebrows furrow as I sit back on the couch.

After a couple of (thankfully) comfortable minutes of silence with Rachel and Finn, Rachel calls out, "Blaine, I'm sure your hair looks fine! Let's go!"

I hear a muffled, "Okay, okay," through the bathroom door and a moment later it swings open.

My eyes are greeted with the sight of Blaine in a coal grey peacoat, red skinny jeans, and black boat shoes, his hair slicked back and looking quite dapper for a casual pizza joint.

I'm getting the impression that he just wears whatever he wants no matter where he's going, if the work out clothes at the terminal and now this are anything to go by.

Meanwhile, I either dress like Finn or a lumberjack on my best days. I try to suppress a shudder and avoid looking at my current outfit... Or Finn's.

_Blaine, though... he looks nice..._

Wait- shit- everybody's leaving.

I scramble off the couch and shuffle toward the door to try to keep up as everyone makes their exits.

I'm hit with a sudden pang of jealously that I just can't explain as we all stroll toward the New York streets.

* * *

Honestly, I'm speechless.

Out of all the possible scenarios I'd thought of in my head of how dinner would go, I'd never considered this. I'm actually quite surprised I hadn't.

_It's almost exactly like before._ Only now it's Finn and Rachel talking over each other and Blaine being passive and laughing at the right moments. I mean, there is slight change- Blaine looks like he _wants_ to say things but simply can't get a word in edgewise.

_This better not become a permanent thing._

I get that Finn and Rachel are in love, and that Rachel is quite a talker, and that this move was overwhelming and exciting (I'm still buzzing a bit from the walk to this restaurant- all those _people_ outside and bright lights...) so there's lots to talk about for them but this will become old hat pretty damn quickly.

I'm doing that thing now where I sort of hyper focus on observing rather than participating, which makes my hearing feel a little distant and distorted. I've accumulated this handy skill throughout the many family dinners over the years.

Nevertheless, I don't feel excluded. Not at all, really. I feel some sort of tension between Blaine and me, but so far he hasn't shown any similar feeling. I'm probably just making things bigger than they are, like I tend to. I wonder if he even noticed my weirdness at all.

However, he's pulling a Carole. And by that, I mean that he keeps sending me these _looks_- whether he's doing it subconsciously or consciously, I'm not sure.

The only difference is that Carole's looks were pitying and made me feel small and kind of weak. Blaine's just seem laced with curiosity.

I don't dislike it.

* * *

**_A/N: For some reason I was really nervous to post this chapter... Let me know what you think!_**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

So it's been two weeks since I moved here.

A week and a half since I started sending out job applications.

My resume sucks and I know it. I have a bachelor's degree in mechanical engineering and what do I have to show for it?

Ten years of filing paper at my own father's company.

Skills I have?

Um... Well, categorizing_ paper_? I don't know! I fixed two or three cars before Finn came around... Does that count?

Achievements?

Ranked fourth in my class at OSU. Does anyone even care about fourth place or does that feeling of awe only kick in for first or second?

Perhaps my resume is so shitty because I just hate the idea of pursuing a career that I have absolutely no passion for.

_'That's life.' _Dad had told me_. _Who am I to argue?

Anyways, like I said, it's been a week and a half and I haven't heard back from anyone.

Finn applied at the same time I did and he already has a couple of interviews scheduled.

How, you ask? I really have no idea. He has a business marketing degree and has worked as a _mechanic_ for nearly a decade. It doesn't make sense. But I suppose if I don't get any calls, Finn _has_ to get a couple just to balance out the perversity.

I don't know what to do with myself while I wait, however. What with Rachel always at auditions and Finn always going with her and Blaine teaching at NYADA, I keep ending up having the house to myself.

Which I _suppose_ isn't a bad thing, necessarily.

Mainly I've taken to watching Rachel and Blaine's movie musicals on my computer. I actually haven't seen any before. I have always had to just imagine the story lines based on my secret Broadway soundtracks or google them in private if I get too desperate.

But watching them- on my computer, with my earbuds in, facing the front door (should someone walk in for any reason)- is _such_ a different experience.

As I now sit here watching Evita for the second time, I almost want to cry.

I can feel these small, barely-there flutters in my chest. Tiny remnants of a passion I used to feel. A once all-consuming, ambitious passion that is now fragmented and negligible.

I find myself mouthing along to the words I'd memorized so long ago.

I also find myself waging an internal battle.

No one's home. Nobody will ever have to know.

Just do it.

_I can't._

Why not?

_I'm afraid._

Of what?

... _Of being heard._

I thought you _wanted_ people to notice you for once?

_I don't know what I want._

Fear is a stupid emotion. It's your own fault- but you can control it. Take charge for once.

_I don't know how._

Tough.

I close my laptop and set it down on the coffee table. I scramble toward the bathroom, close the door behind me, and turn to face the mirror above the sink. For a moment I just stand there, staring at my own face, at my flushed cheeks and too-bright eyes, before I finally open my mouth.

_"It won't be easy_

_You'll think it strange..."_

Oh dear God, I'm just not used to this. I flinch violently at the falsetto sound coming out of my throat.

_"When I try to explain how I feel..."_

My voice cracks. A lot. And I can't hold the note very long.

I take a couple of deep breaths and clear my throat. My hands tremble faintly on the countertop.

_"That I still need your love, after all that I've done_

_You won't believ-"_

My voice thins out before I can finish the line and tears well in my eyes before I can stop them. I try to sing the line again to no avail.

"You can hit a note like this. You can _hit it._ You've done it before!" I yell at my reflection.

_Yeah and you sported Burt's handprint on your face for nearly a week _It practically spits back at me.

I skip to the chorus.

_"Don't cry for me Argentina_

_The truth is I nev-"_

_CRACK _goes my voice_._

My throat burns and I can't even see myself in the mirror through my tears.

I think back on the day, so long ago, that I first discovered I could hit a high F. It was probably the happiest day of my life. I thought I had an escape. I thought I had a ticket out of that crumby little town.

That was the first and last time I ever sung that note.

_You're just a Lima loser._

I know_._

The little fissures behind my eyes abruptly burst open, and tears finally spill over.

I stumble back and drop onto the toilet seat, sobbing into my hands.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid_," I chant into my palms, rocking back and forth, squeezing fistfuls of my hair.

My throat feels tight as my chest begins to spasm, and soon I start wheezing in and out, the telltale signs of my all-too-familiar panic attacks.

_Oh shit._

Cam down! It's just your voice! What did you expect after all this time?

I close my eyes and cup my hands around my mouth, just breathing and trying to relax my chest muscles.

_In._

_Out._

_In._

_Out._

It takes me a while to calm down enough to stand up on wobbly legs. My face feels tight and my nose is runny and I don't even need to look in the mirror to know that my skin must be redder than a ripe tomato.

_What time is it?_

People should be coming home soon.

I shrug off my clothes and step into the shower. I feel hot all over so I crank up the cold water and lean against the tiles, trying and failing to think about nothing.

Soon enough my breathing returns to normal.

* * *

_**(BLAINE'S POV)**_

Usually when I have classes earlier in the day, I grab a coffee with Wes, who teaches vocal lessons in NYADA's main building. However, he and his wife are gonna celebrate their anniversary tonight so he told me he needed to get home ASAP.

I still go to the café across the street, but order my medium drip 'to go' instead.

I walk home briskly and quickly, not wanting to be out in the cold any longer than necessary. I hold the warm cup tightly in my numb hand as I fumble for the keys in my pocket. I unlock our front door and swiftly step inside, shutting out the chill.

I begin to head over to my room but stop dead in my tracks at the sound of someone sobbing.

It's high pitched and unrecognizable- not Rachel. Rachel is at an audition and Finn's no doubt with her. Plus, she would cry in the middle of the living room so that everyone could see her.

_So that only leaves..._

_Really?_

What do I do?

_"Stupid, stupid, stupid," _I hear through the door. It's quite heartbreaking. His cries sound so desperate and I wish he could be comforted somehow. I have absolutely no idea how to proceed. Clearly Kurt hasn't heard me come in yet. If I go in there will he be embarrassed? Will I be overstepping? I've only known him for a couple of weeks...

I toe off my shoes and pad into my room, setting down my bag and removing my scarf and coat, before I walk quietly back into the living room. The sobs are still going strong and I don't know why or what caused them. I feel at a loss.

I sink down onto the sofa and stare at the door.

_Is this creepy? Should I just go to my room and ignore him? Am I a terrible person if I do?_

In the end, Kurt decides for me. I hadn't even realized that the cries had quieted down somewhat before I hear the squeak of the shower nozzles turning on and the stream of water hitting the bottom of the tub.

I sigh and close my eyes, stretching out on the couch. _Well that was a bust._

I'm not sure how long it is until I hear I hear the water shut off, but before I can make my exit, Rachel and Finn come bursting through the door.

"Hey, how was it?" I ask, needing to distract myself.

"It was okay. I mean, it wasn't _bad_ per se, but it wasn't my best performance." Rachel's mouth twists.

"That's too bad." I say in sympathy.

"She sounded awesome, I don't know what she's talking about." Finn compliments, earning him a kiss from Rachel. He looks so self-satisfied that I almost laugh out loud, but that wouldn't help Finn. So I keep my lips sealed, instead giving him a sly thumbs-up when Rachel's back is turned.

"Guys I'm starving." Finn announces.

Rachel checks her watch and says thoughtfully, "I guess we could have an early dinner..."

"I picked up some mozzarella yesterday, you guys in the mood for pasta?" I ask. "We can set aside a bowl without cheese in it, of course." I add to Rachel.

She says "Sure," at the same time Finn says, "Dude, I'm up for anything."

Just then, the door to the bathroom pushes open and out walks Kurt, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. He looks fresh and chipper, as if nothing had happened at all.

_As far he thinks the rest of us know, nothing _did_ happen..._

"Hey guys, what's going on?" He asks, eyeing everyone.

I try searching for it- the barest hint of sorrow, the crack in his façade- and... nothing.

He's perfectly composed now.

It terrifies me.

Has this happened before? How many times?

Suddenly I feel as though a whole world of secrets has been presented to me, but I have no way to access them.

_What is he hiding?_

"Rachel and I were just about to get started on dinner. You wanna help?" I ask carefully. I wasn't supposed to have seen anything, so I can't let him know that I did.

His mouth opens and closes for a moment, looking as though he's having some sort of internal conflict for a fraction of a second.

My eyes glaze over as I notice that, after a shower, the flush of his face seems to make his lips look particularly pinker than they normally do. It makes them kind of distracting.

Is that a weird thing to observe?

_Pay attention._

"Thanks but- I'm just about as useless in the kitchen as Finn." Kurt finally responds. Finn chuckles in agreement.

"Alright." I murmur, following Rachel to the oven. Kurt and Finn go watch tv.

* * *

"So... Are you adjusting to having extra people around here?" Rachel asks, dumping the noodles into a large bowl while I tear up some basil.

"Yeah, everyone seems to be getting on well..." I lie.

"Even Kurt? I'm a little worried about him." Rachel mentions.

"Wait- _you've _seen something?" That wasn't a one time thing?

"No," Rachel says, eyeing me. "It's just, he doesn't get out much and- and you know how all their stuff shipped here a couple days ago?"

"Yeah." Luckily I had had some classes that day, so I hadn't had to unpack with everyone else.

"Well it was all Finn's. like, _all_ of it." She tells me, leaning in close as though she was revealing some juicy gossip.

I frowned.

"Maybe Kurt's stuff just hasn't gotten here yet..."

"Finn said that was it. That little suitcase Kurt brought? That was everything."

"And... This bothers you? Or...?" I ask slowly. She seems worked up over this small thing.

"It doesn't _bother _me, I just think it's weird. I mean it almost seems like he's not planning on staying here for very long..."

For some reason that idea makes me kind of sad.

"Or maybe he just doesn't have a lot of stuff?" I hope that's the case.

"Perhaps." Rachel agrees.

"Well if your so concerned he's a recluse, why don't we all go out tomorrow night?"

"Oooh that could be fun," Rachel grins.

I squeeze my eyes shut and make an obvious show of crossing my fingers in hope.

"Gay bar, gay bar, gay bar, gay bar" I chant excitedly.

"Yes Blaine, going to a gay bar is the perfect place to get a straight guy to come out of his shell." She mocks, laughing.

"You'd be surprised by the things that 'come out' there." I tease, moving out of the way before she can shove me.

"Dear God, Blaine, let's think of some options."

* * *

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

We're watching a rerun of _Deadliest Catch _that I've seen at least four times already. I desperately want to retreat to the kitchen to cook, but refrain.

I feel physically and emotionally drained from earlier and I really just want to sleep.

Finn decides that this is the right time to lay his big news on me.

"So..." He starts, wringing his hands out nervously.

"So..." I mimic, turning to face him.

"I was thinking of, you know, popping the question..."

My eyes widen.

"To Rachel?"

"No, to you. _Yes_ to Rachel." Finn chuckles, and I join him. "What do you think?" He asks.

"I think it's a great idea!" I yell quietly. He grins that dopey, stupid grin that I can't help but love. I slap him on the back fondly, happiness flooding through me.

_Jesus, when did he grow up?_ I wonder, feeling like a protective parent. _This is the same guy who thought cucumbers could give you AIDS?_

"When are you gonna do it?" I ask.

"Not sure. I mean I'm gonna wait a few more weeks until we're more settled here and stuff but- it's time, bro."

"That amazing. Do you have a ring yet? I could help you look for a store if you don't want anyone else finding out." I offer.

"Naw, dude, I already got one." Finn discreetly pulls a box out of his pocket, and picks his head up to make sure no one else can see him. We can still hear voices coming from the kitchen in full swing, so we know we're safe.

He lifts the lid to show me, and my heart stops. My expression sobers and I feel an unpleasant tingling sensation spread throughout my body and die in my fingertips.

I know that ring all too well.

"Where did you get that?" I whisper, my eyes never leaving the sapphire sparkling dully in the lamplight.

"Your dad gave it to me a couple years back. He said he wanted me to have it for, you know, when I was ready to ask a girl to marry me. Apparently it was his mom's, but she gave it to him, before she kicked the bucket."

"I didn't know he'd kept it." I whisper tightly.

_"Can I try it on, Nanna?" I asked Maggie Hummel, climbing onto her lap._

_"Honey, I haven't taken this off in 60 years." She laughed._

_My eyes widened- I couldn't wrap my head around that. That was like, ten times how old _I _was!_

_I pouted slightly, touching the bright blue jewel around her finger._

_"It's so pretty." I murmured._

_"I'll tell you what," She said, turning my small frame around to face her. "After I'm gone, it's all yours."_

_"Really? Thank you!" I smiled. "But what if I'm already married when that happens?"_

_"I'm real old, sweetie, I don't have too many years left." She chuckled. "Now I'm gonna leave it with your daddy, and when you're older, I want you to give it to a girl that's _really_ special, okay?"_

_"Okay." I whispered, not daring to tell her that I didn't wanna give it to some girl, I wanted to wear it myself._

"Is this cool with you, dude?" Finn asks me, seeing my expression.

_Don't cry. Kurt Hummel, if you cry, I will never speak to you again._

"Of course." _It holds no value to you. Man up. Guys don't get emotional over jewelry. _"Rachel will love it, I'm sure."

It's Dad's mom's. He has the right to pass it on to whomever he wants.

But _she_ wanted _me _to have it.

_Dad probably didn't even know._

But even if he didn't know, shouldn't he have given it to his _own son_? Finn never even knew her.

_It's out of your hands now. Just let it be_.

_Finn_ is getting _engaged._ This is huge.

Be happy for him. Don't be selfish.

I cloud my brain over, and force a genuine smile onto my face.

"Just let me know if you need anything, and I'm there. Okay, brother?"

Finn nods. "Thank, man." He grins, putting the box back into his pocket.

Just then, Rachel comes out of the kitchen, announcing, "Dinner's ready, boys!"

My head whips toward her in a nanosecond, and I glare daggers, seething.

_That _bitch_ doesn't deserve it-_

Her eyes widen infinitesimally at the look I'm giving her.

Woah.

_Shit, relax. She hasn't done anything wrong._

_Breathe._

I force my facial muscles to relax and school my expression to one of warmth immediately. Her brows furrow, apparently doubting herself.

"Thanks Rachel. I'm just gonna use the bathroom first." I walk passed her toward the room that's become my only private place.

I dry heave over the toilet for a good three minutes before I can feel some semblance of normalcy again.

I exit the bathroom and make my way to the table at which everyone is eating. Rachel and Finn smile in my direction as I take a seat. Only Blaine is looking at me with worry and confusion in his eyes. He's been doing that a lot today.

I'm not hungry anymore and each bite I take just makes me more nauseous than the last.

* * *

_**A/N: (I changed a couple of words at the end because an adjective felt repetitive)**_

_**The song is called "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" from the musical **_**Evita.**

**Please Review! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: Hey sorry it's been a little while since my last update! AP exams are coming up and I've got like almost no time for anything fun :(_**

**_ANYWAYS, after watching last week's episode, I just couldn't NOT incorporate Blaine's work out clothes (how awesome were those green shorts?) so there's a little shout out to that 'cause I just couldn't help myself :)_**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

So I tried singing again. In the shower this time. The steam made my throat looser and my body calmer, and the sound of the running water made the mistakes slightly less noticeable to my ears.

And it was... Slightly better. Not great, not even _good_, but better.

I'm trying to focus on that positive aspect of the situation. I feel that if I practice more often, I can train my voice to be somewhat decent again. As much as I've always _hated_ the feminine intonation of my voice, yesterday's... debacle has made me realize that I'd rather be amazing than be nothing at all. People can close their eyes while I sing if it's too confusing for them, but at the end of the day, I'll still have an adam's apple and a dick dangling between my legs. Nothing I can do about that.

Today I went with an easier number, the Beatles's "Blackbird." I need to take baby steps. Yesterday I got ahead of myself. What was I thinking? That was way too advanced for getting back in the game again.

I mean, what I did today was less _singing_ and more _musically talking_, because I still can't hold notes for shit- but it was a start.

Right now I'm standing in front of the small dresser we picked up so that my clothes wouldn't have to stay packed in my suitcase anymore. It's shoved up against the wall next to the bathroom, so that's it's not in the way.

Once again I am at a loss when it comes to clothes. I don't have anything I can wear tonight. Apparently we're going to a bar... Like in public.

I still have the suit that I wore to Dad and Carole's wedding but I threw away the stained white button-up because... well, you know.

Somehow I feel like wearing a tux tonight would be just a tad too formal.

But the shoes and the tie could work. And, perhaps a pair of black jeans (they're way too loose for my taste but the one pair I have is all that I've got)...

That just leaves a shirt. Maybe I could borrow one?

But I can't ask Finn. The sleeves would be loo long and the hem would practically touch the floor.

_So then my only other options is..._

My head turns toward Blaine's room. He got home a little while ago, and music has been blasting loudly behind his door ever since.

My insides squirm at the idea of going in there, but I push through my nerves and make my feet move.

I knock on his door a few times and wait. I can hear the music being turned down, and a moment later the door swings open to reveal Blaine in a black tank top, black socks, and the littlest pair of green shorts I have ever seen on a man before.

His hair has broken free of its gel helmet, in a state of disarray on top of his head, and he's sweaty and out of breathe and... ridiculously adorable and... Jesus...

"What's up?" He asks, smiling openly at me. I had always thought his eyes were brown but up close and in this lighting they look almost green... I can't help getting distracted...

"Um," _What was I gonna ask him again? _I blink for a second, trying to collect my thoughts. _Oh, right. _"Do you think I could a borrow a shirt for tonight? Somehow I don't think flannel will fly with all the big city socialites."

I wince. _That sounded better in my head._

He chuckles for a second at my admittedly odd wording, and says, "Uh, yeah sure, come in."

He turns and walks further into his room and I follow.

_God, his legs are incredible_. I watch the stretch and pull of the muscles beneath his skin from behind, and find myself _really_ wanting to run my fingers through the hair on his thighs...

_Oh my _god, _stop being gross._

I tug my chin up and look around the room instead.

I can hear the song that's playing a bit better now, and while I can tell it's something current and popular, I don't recognize it enough to be able to name it.

I notice that almost everything is arranged on the far side of the room, leaving a small, empty square of space to move around in. I wonder if he creates and practices routines for his classes in here, or if he just dances for fun.

_Probably both._ _That must be what he was doing before I interrupted._

There is a ton of pictures taped up on the walls, all scattered throughout the room. Some of him with Rachel, some of him with boys in matching blazers, some of _just_ the boys in blazers, a lot of him with the guy from the commercial (... which I should ask about someday...), pictures of other people I don't know...

_Blaine has so many friends..._

I feel a sudden stab of envy but swallow it down as Blaine pulls open his closet to reveal a myriad of clothes in a wide range of colors.

I very nearly salivate as I take in all the garments, and part of me wants to just walk inside and close the door behind me and tell everyone else to _go away_ as I touch all of the fabrics and try everything on, but the other part of me knows that that's impossible and also kind of creepy.

"What kind of shirt were you thinking of?" He asks, back facing me as he looks at the closet.

"I wasn't really sure. What do people usually wear to, like, bars and stuff?" _Wow, _that _sounded naïve._

"It depends." He answers.

I raise an eyebrow. "On?"

"How you want your night to end." He says matter-of-factly, flashing a cheeky grin in my direction. Upon seeing my now wide eyes, for I know exactly what he meant, he assures me, "Relax, Kurt. I'm only kidding... Sort of."

"Right." I chuckle nervously. "A button-up should be fine."

"Okay, what color you need?"

"What colors do you have?"

"All of them." Blaine deadpans. I huff out a breath of laughter.

"Well that narrows it down. Um... what would you suggest? The rest of my outfit is black."

"Hm..." He hums, looking through his closet. He emerges with a black shirt and a royal blue shirt. "An all-black outfit can be killer hot on anyone but the blue would really bring out the color of your eyes." He states with a professional tone of voice. I try to suppress the spark of excitement shooting through my body at that single sentence.

I move to stand in front of the full length mirror on the inside of the open closet door. Blaine comes up behind me and holds a shirt on either side of me. He's so close that I can feel his body heat and inhale the scent of drying sweat on his soft-looking skin. He smells masculine and it's weirdly erotic for me. It makes my heart jump into my throat and beat twice as fast, but instead of dealing with it, I start having an internal freak out, suddenly feeling way too warm and claustrophobic. I grab the blue shirt quickly and step away from the mirror, and away from Blaine, putting a large amount of space between us. Way too large to be subtle.

He's still holding the black shirt up awkwardly, as though he hasn't yet registered my sudden absence.

"Sorry," I sigh, catching his bewildered expression.

He analyzes my face for a second longer before shaking his head quickly, as though he were trying to clear it, and murmurs, "Um, no I'm sorry. I won't stand so close -"

"Please don't apologize," I say. God, it's not like he did anything wrong. It's all on me. "Um, thanks for the, uh..." I raise the blue shirt a little, clutching it tighter.

"Sure," He nods. "No problem."

I turn, my face on fire, and scramble out the door as quickly as possible.

* * *

_**(BLAINE'S POV)**_

I feel like I've made a fool of myself, although I have no idea how.

_Maybe I should have put on a real pair of pants before I opened my door... _I didn't think I'd ever have to worry about that kind of stuff in my own home but perhaps I do now.

I think back on high school, about how I was always tiptoeing around whichever straight dorm mate they paired me up with at Dalton. How they always thought I was coming on to them if I stood just a _tad_ too close or held eye contact just a _little_ too long... Always walking on eggshells because of the no-bullying policy...

I know Finn's at least somewhat cool with my being gay, but maybe Kurt isn't as okay with it as he originally seemed.

That would be... disappointing.

_Was I invading his personal space?_

It hadn't seemed like it at the time. Either way, I guess I'll have to be more careful from now on.

The sound of the front door opening and closing alerts me to Finn and Rachel's return.

I towel off my sweat and run a comb through my hair.

I then walk back over to my closet to choose an outfit for myself, thinking about the fact that that was the longest conversation I've had with Kurt since I met him. And it didn't even last three minutes.

* * *

After gelling my hair down (I've long since moved my product out of the bathroom), I step out of my room to see Finn already on the couch, and Kurt perched delicately next to him.

And he's cleaned up _good._

My shirt is a little tight on him- but in the best way- and his sleek, black tie only makes him look slimmer. Also, his hair is combed back little so that I can actually see his entire face.

He looks nice and I kinda want to stare at him some more but instead I turn my head away.

"Alright, everybody ready?" Rachel asks happily, walking into the room wearing heels and red lipstick.

"Damn." I appraise her. She smiles and does a little twirl before motioning for Kurt and Finn to get up off the couch.

"Alright Kurt, we've been here for too whole weeks." Finn announces, as though that equals a lifetime. "You gotta get a girl tonight, man. You've been single for too long!"

"You're in the big apple now- _millions_ of fish in the sea here!" Rachel says encouragingly.

"_Hot_ fishes." Finn adds, slapping a hand on Kurt's back.

Kurt chuckles, visibly uncomfortable. "It hasn't been _that_ long, Finn." He mumbles, looking down.

"You haven't been with a girl since college," I notice Kurt's face twitch a little at that comment, making me a bit curious. "I just wanna see you happy, man."

"I am happy." He defends, not looking convincing at all. "I-I just wanna focus on finding work right now, and-"

"Well, that doesn't mean you can't have some fun along the way. Just let loose! You never let loose." Finn tries to persuade him as we shuffle out the door.

"Right." Kurt appeases, anxiously running his hands through his hair a few times, ruining it. Soon enough we are out in the New York air, having decided earlier to walk the couple blocks to the bar. Rachel and Finn are talking about something so I walk with Kurt.

"Let's just get this over with so that we can all go to Scandals after." I remark with a smirk, testing his reaction.

"There's a Scandals around here? I thought there was only one in Ohio..." Kurt says, trailing off once he realizes what came out of his mouth.

My mind freezes for a split second- _He knows about the one in Lima?_

"Uh, it's a chain. There's a couple other ones but I can't remember which states they're in..." I say, eyeing him.

He nods stiffly, not meeting my gaze for the rest of the walk.

* * *

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

I can't breathe in this shirt.

My clothes are usually a size too big but right now I can _feel_ the line of buttons through the tank top I'm wearing underneath this. It leaves nothing to the imagination and I have nowhere to hide.

We're sitting on the stools right in front of the bartenders' area because there weren't any tables left when we got here.

We were talking for a while but gradually started drifting as the night wore on. Rachel saw some of her friends here tonight and introduced all of us. However, they _are_ Rachel's friends, so (as to be expected) they were quite loud and talkative. It was too chaotic so I ducked out not too long into the conversation and moved to the other side of the bar.

I keep ordering bad-tasting beers, whatever kind Finn had suggested, and eventually get up and just wonder around, not quite sure what to do with myself.

There's live entertainment so I head on over to the little raised platform where a band is playing, its lead singer a beautiful black woman with killer style. I appreciate her dress- bright purple and sparkling in the low lighting. The alcohol I've consumed makes me slightly less tactful than I'd normally be, and my eyes move up her body in a way that could be considered suggestive, I suppose, if I was checking out _her_ and not just her fabulous ensemble.

When I meet her eyes, however, I can tell that she misinterpreted my gaze. She smiles alluringly at me as she sings, clearly interested. I know I'm blushing hard, because it's just _weird_ to imagine anyone being attracted to me.

Her smile turns amused at she notices my redness, and I feel a flash of recognition as I gaze at her, but I can't explain why.

She has an incredible voice, and I find myself leaning against a wall near the small stage, just listening and draining my beer. It calms my nerves for a long while.

After a few more songs, the band takes a break, and soon enough I see those sparkly purple-clad hips sashaying toward me.

_Just let loose! You never let loose... _Finn's words from earlier echo through my head, and all of a sudden I wish I had something stronger than Budweiser.

I look over her shoulder and see Finn staring straight at me, raising his beer in a toast, as if to say _Go for it._

"Can I buy you a drink?" I ask, turning back toward her.

"Sure."

We make our way over to the bartender, and, once she receives her apple martini, sit down on a couple of stools.

"Kurt Hummel." I start, offering my hand to shake. She takes it with a firm, yet somehow soft, grip.

"I know." She smiles again.

My brows furrow.

"How do you...?"

"We went to McKinley together. I'm Mercedes Jones, I was in glee club with your brother."

I'm shocked.

"You know, I knew you looked familiar..."

"Did you?" She smirks.

"I did. You lost a lot of weight." I comment, hoping that came off as kind. "You look good."

"Thanks. You lost all your baby fat." She chuckles, and I join her. For some reason, I feel oddly at ease with this woman.

"I did."

"You know," She starts, smiling shyly into her her glass. "I had the biggest crush on you back in high school..."

_Oh god._ And there goes the little semblance of confidence I very nearly had.

"Really?" I ask, trying to look intrigued.

One look at my expression has her laughing, "Relax. I'm not gonna jump your bones."

I- embarrassingly- almost choke on my drink, trying to pass it off as clearing my throat, and failing miserably.

"Sorry, I'm new at this..." I manage to say.

She raises her eyebrows and says, "At what?" with an falsely innocent, flirty smile.

"I... don't know." I grin.

"Well you better figure it out quickly, 'cause I gotta get back up there soon." She nods toward the stage.

"Is that what you do now? You're a singer?" _How lucky._

"Aspiring-superstar diva." She laughs and it's contagious. "And you?"

"I just moved here. With Finn and Rachel, actually..." I turn around, and motion for them to come over- anything to take the pressure off of me. Both of their faces break out into wide smiles once they actually recognize her.

"Oh my god, Mercedes!" Rachel runs over and squeals, hugging her.

"You look amazing!" Finn admires.

I feel good right now. Giddy at the fact that I made this reunion happen.

I feel a pair of eyes boring a hole into the back of my head, and turn around to see bright hazel across the bar. Blaine looks odd- like a little upset about something. I give a big grin at him, my happiness flowing off of me in waves. His faces softens as he smiles politely back, eyebrows unfurling the slightest amount, but he still looks a bit distraught for reasons I can't explain.

After a few minutes of catching up, someone from the band calls to Mercedes.

"Well, I gotta go guys, but it was great seeing you all!" She says, her eyes landing on me. She pulls out a slip of paper and a pen, jotting something down and then handing it to me.

My fingers curl around the paper, glancing at it to see a series of numbers.

"Just in case..." She winks, sauntering away before she can catch my face heating up to record highs.

* * *

_**(BLAINE'S POV)**_

Why do I have this sinking feeling in my chest when I watch them flirt?

It's not like I really _know_ Kurt (or her, for that matter). It's not like I'd have a chance- it's not like I _want_ a chance.

Besides, I should be happy for him. I mean, he smiled a _joyful_ smile at me at me just a moment ago. That's progress.

_It's just- seeing them together is wrong somehow. It just _is_._

Plus she's gorgeous, and, from what I can tell, Rachel and Finn seem to like her already. This is good for Kurt, this is-

_Wait, what is she writing down? Why is she giving it to him?_

_Why is she _winking- _god, _why_ did I suggest we all go out tonight? We should have just stayed home! I should just stick to dancing, 'cause clearly I'm too stupid to come up with any bright ideas-_

I'm going over there. I don't like this at all.

"Excuse me." I tell Rachel's friends, who don't even seem to notice that I'm walking away from them.

"Hey, Blaine?!" Finn calls, a hand clasped on a stiff-looking Kurt's shoulder, the girl in the purple dress finally gone.

"Yeah?" I ask, now standing close enough to have real conversation with the three of them.

"It was a success! Kurt got a chick's number." Finn grins proudly.

"And not just _any_ chick. _Mercedes Jones_, one of our friends from high school." Rachel gushes.

"That's awesome!" I exclaim, mustering up as much enthusiasm as needed to sound genuine. Kurt doesn't meet my eyes, however.

"We only talked for a minute-" Kurt starts, bashful.

"And he didn't even need a wingman!" Finn praises, interrupting Kurt.

I laugh at Finn's excitement.

"Alright, now it's my turn!" _I really need to get out of here. _"You guys ready for Scandals?"

* * *

_**Reviews = love = Blaine's little green shorts :)**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning: lightest/shortest smut ever (no not our boys- sorry! Won't happen again!) Does it even counts as smut? ... Also there's a flashback that includes a little bit of child abuse...**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

Finn looks so freaked out right now it's almost comical. The drag queens probably aren't helping...

"But _why_ would those dudes _wanna_ dress like girls?" Finn asks for the second time in three minutes.

"It's just what some people like, Finn- I don't know..." I answer once again.

"Do you wanna go, Finn? You don't look so good..." Rachel says, rubbing his back.

"No, no, I can handle it. Plus, it looks like Blaine's having a good time..." Finn nods toward the middle of the room, where Blaine is laughing with an admittedly handsome bartender.

_God, does Blaine know _everybody_?_

I look back over to see a guy in leather giving Finn a slow once-over, his lips quirking into a suggestive smirk once he meets Finn's eyes. Finn visibly pales and turns to Rachel instantly.

"Yeah, no. I can't do this."

"Okay, baby, let's just head home." Rachel grabs his hand and then faces me. "Kurt, you gonna stick around? I feel bad leaving Blaine by himself..."

"Y-Yeah, but I mean he looks like he's doing just fine..." I comment, refusing to watch him and the bartender smile at each other for reasons I can't explain.

"Okay, well, your call." She smiles warmly.

I bite my lip.

"You could always just stay a little longer and come home whenever." Rachel suggests.

"I don't know the way back, yet." I remind her.

"Oh, right."

"I-I'll just stay here. It's only midnight and it's my 'first big New York outing.'" I joke. "I'm not ready to go back yet..." _Don't think on it, don't think on it, just go home..._ I chant, hoping Finn won't rib me later.

"What do you mean 'it's only midnight'? You never stay out late. You never stay _up_ late." Finn remarks confusedly.

"That was in Cowtown, Ohio. This is New York." I retort curtly, suddenly pissed for absolutely no reason.

_Just go _away_ already._

Finn's eyebrows furrow at my biting tone, but he doesn't comment on it.

"Alright, well, tell Blaine we're ducking out, then." He says before he and Rachel make for the exit.

I sigh, exhausted.

_Idiot, why did you just do that? You said you'd stay _here_? Of _all _places?_

I trod over to a barstool, and sit down. I'll tell Blaine about Rachel and Finn once he's done with his conversation... Wouldn't wanna intrude...

I bite my lip for a second, my eyes lingering on Blaine, before flickering toward the surface of the tabletop.

There's something I've always wanted to try, but I've just been too afraid before.

He's not looking- just do it.

_What if he comes over?_

He won't. Just look at him- totally absorbed in that other guy.

I close my eyes for a second.

_If this doesn't work, I'm punching you in the face._

Wait, what?

"Can I get a strawberry daiquiri?" I ask.

"Of course." The bartender smiles.

Soon enough he's handing me the gayest drink I've ever held in my life.

_Fuck, it even has a strawberry on the rim of the glass. Oh god, what am I doing?_

I need to go home. This was stupid.

I push off of my seat, but as soon as my feet touch the ground, I hear a voice in my ear.

"Leaving so soon?"

I turn around to see a pair of bright blue eyes a few feet from my face.

"I'm sorry?"

"Hi. I'm Peter Rothenburg." He smiles._ Well, _that_ name is a mouthful..._

"Uh, Noah Puckerman." I say the first name that comes to mind as I shake his hand.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He asks.

My heart falls to my stomach as I remember how I said those exact words to a girl less than two hours ago. Suddenly I don't feel like talking. My eyes wander over to where Blaine is now chatting _two_ good-looking guys, before snapping back to meet Peter's eyes again.

"I'm good, thanks." I gesture toward my daiquiri.

"Then can we just sit here and talk?" He asks, persistent.

"... Okay." I agree, only because he's looking at me like he wants to eat me and it's kind of thrilling.

He ends up staying longer than I'd anticipated, picking up the next round of drinks... and the next... and the next... and I've just stopped counting by now...

Oh, and now he's pulling on my arm to go outside...

I'd started feeling tipsy half an hour ago, and theoretically I know that my decision-making skills aren't quite what they should be anymore, so when he tugs me toward an alley out back behind the building, I follow him.

It's not that I like him- I don't at all, really. During our conversations he'd seemed pretentious, self-satisfied, and extremely pleased with the sound of his own voice. Eventually I had just stopped listening to whatever he was saying in favor of watching his face move as he talked.

But now I _can't_ see his face because he's pushed me up a brick wall and has said face buried against my neck.

_When did_ this_ happen?_

"W-Wait, I don't know about this-" I stutter as his hands clamp around my jaw. He sucks painfully on the skin underneath my collar. A breeze makes his spit on my neck cool and I squirm uncomfortably.

"Shhh..."

"But-"

"Just relax." He murmurs.

I swallow down more air, trying to calm my racing heart. My head is so fuzzy from all those drinks and it just _won't clear._

_'Loosen up!'_

_'Just relax.'_

Okay. Okay.

His hands travel down to my belt, unbuckling it without even bothering to slide it all the way out. His fingers pop open the button of my jeans with a practiced ease that only makes me more nervous.

_Am I supposed to be doing something as well?_

My hands clench around the fabric of his shirt, spurring him on.

And then I feel it.

The hard, unmistakable length of his erection rutting against my thigh, making me gasp.

_That is a dick. That is another man's _dick_. And it's _touching_ you._

I've never been this close to a penis in all of my life and now all of a sudden it _right there _mocking me. I can feel the entire length of it. Primal fear courses through my whole body in a way I've never experienced before. Ever.

_You are standing in a dirty alleyway behind a gay bar with a stranger's tongue lapping slimy stripes up your neck and his_ DICK RUBBING ON YOUR LEG _and who_ is_ this guy anyway__ and _GET HIM OFF GET HIM OFF OF YOU NOW-

All of a sudden my hands are pressing flat on his chest and I'm pushing him off of me as hard as I can.

"I'm sorry- I can't. I can't do this." I babble.

"Noah, come on-" He says, moving in again, his hands inching toward my waist.

"_No._ Stop." I push him back again.

"_Why_?"

"I just _can't_, okay?"

"Fuck, are you serious?" He looks really mad and I can't blame him. "After all that fucking money I wasted on those drinks?"

My hands scramble for my wallet in my back pocket. I open it up, taking out a twenty and 3 ones, and I hold it up for him to see.

"It's all I've got." I tell him. I can't think clearly enough to know if it's too much or not enough compensation but I just want him to leave me alone now so I don't even care.

With a frustrated sigh, he yanks the bills out of my hand, muttering "It's the least you can do..." And then he's stalking off out of sight.

So where does that leave me?

Well I'm standing here with my tie loose, my pants hanging open, my collarbone feeling bruised and unpleasant, and my wallet empty. It's dark here and there's trash everywhere and _fuck_ now my eyes are watering. I feel dirty and I don't even know _why_, and _how did everything escalate so quickly?_ and I feel lost. But most of all, I feel completely _humiliated _over someone I don't even _know-_

Ugh, and now the drinks have really hit home I have to pee _so bad._

I stumble toward the mouth of the alley and look around for Scandals- it's just two buildings away...

... Fuck! I was supposed to tell Blaine something... What was I supposed to tell him, again?

I button my pants and buckle my belt as soon as I step onto the sidewalk again.

A young man smoking a cigarette happens to pass by at that exact moment, his eyes flickering between my belt, Scandals, and Peter's retreating form, and I _know _what he must be assuming.

"Faggot." He mutters without even slowing his pace.

And just like that, I'm not twenty-seven-year-old Kurt living in New York, I'm fourteen-year-old Kurt back in Lima, Ohio, banging furiously on his stereo that just _won't stop_ playing _Wicked_- Dad's home, just _shut up_ already!

_"Give it to me." Dad demanded, his hand open and his arm outstretched._

_"What?"_

_"The CD! Give me the _CD_, Kurt!"_

_I was torn. Why was he so mad?_

_His eyes narrowed slightly at my hesitation. I barely had a second to _think _before my cheek erupted in pain, my dad's palm crashing into the side of my face. I stumbled backward and bumped into my dresser, knocking over a couple containers of skin-care products, wishing I could just crawl into a hole and hide because I really didn't need my dad to notice those right now on top of all this- _oh god, why is he _looking_ at me like that?

_I boldly returned his gaze, refusing to clutch my stinging cheek._

_He moved past me to the stereo, pushing the "open" button and not even waiting for the disc to stop spinning before yanking it out. He turned back around and zeroed in on the look on my face._

_"What, are you mad at me now?" He mocked. "Show me."_

_I just stared at him, confused._

_"You never fight back, Kurt! Stop being such a fag all the time and just come _here_! Hit me if you want to! Just _do _something, for god's sake! Don't just take it all the time!"_

_I moved further into the corner of my room, my eyes never leaving his. I wasn't a fighter and we both knew it._

_It was silent for a good while, him just analyzing my face and me just staring back at him still, like a loser._

_He gave a humorless laugh and shook his head in both amazement and puzzlement._

_He moved closer to me and sighed, as though he had the weight of the world resting on his shoulders._

_"Kurt... with your mom gone, it's just me who's gotta raise you. And kids don't come with an instruction manual, you know? I don't want to hear you singing this crap anymore, 'cause it's putting ideas in your head that you don't need." He laid a hand on my shoulder. "We only got each other. And as your dad, I'm just trying to steer you in the right direction... Okay?"_

_His demeanor changed, and he was looking at me almost fondly, like we were friends, or family, or something. It was odd. I was so confused I couldn't stand it._

_"Okay." I murmured to my shoes._

_"What? I didn't catch that."_

_"Okay- Sir." I said louder. _Was that what he wanted?

_"Look at me, Kurt." He demanded with a firmer tone of voice._

_I lifted my eyes to meet his, defeated._

_His eyes roamed my face for a tense moment, before he nodded. "Okay."_

_Then his hand slipped from my shoulder, and he ascended the stairs. The door swung open and closed, and then he was gone._

Crash!

_One of my moisturizers had rolled off of the dresser and onto the floor, the sound startling me._

_Suddenly my breathing became erratic. With hot tears spilling out of my eyes, I turned around and started chucking all of my creams and lotions into my trash can. Expensive bottles and tubes that I had saved up _forever_ for, each one making a satisfying _thump! _against the bottom of the bin. I tore down my small _Singing in the Rain _poster (a movie I'd only ever watched with my mom) and crumpled it up, throwing it away as well, my walls now bare._

_I pulled a (dad approved) New Balance shoe box out of my closet, tossed the sneakers out, and then set about going around my room collecting any musical CD's I could find, stacking them all inside and pushing the lid on top before shoving the box under my bed, next to the small container with my mom's perfume bottle hidden inside._

_It'd be months before I'd dare to even _look_ under my bed again..._

My blood boils uncontrollably.

"_Hey_! I'm not a _faggot!_" I yell, my palms connecting with the stranger's shoulder blades as I shove him, hard.

He stumbles forward a bit and whips around, stunned.

I look around, noticing the wary gazes of the passersby and not caring in the slightest.

"The fuck?" He sputters, shoving me back.

'_Just do something, for god's sake! Don't just take it all the time!' _Dad's words echo in my mind.

I swing a punch at his face and miss, but fast as lightning I deal another, this one a successful blow to his stomach. He bends over in pain, but recovers quickly and charges at me from the lower angle, smashing my back against the wall of the outer edge of the alley.

* * *

_**(BLAINE'S POV)**_

"So you guys are _finally_ together?" I smile at Jeff, his arm around Nick's waist.

"Yeah, it only took him _forever_ to ask me out." Nick laughs.

"I was trying to be professional." Jeff defends. "I thought he was just a regular here."

"I've been coming to Scandals for _months_, Blaine, always ordering from him and hoping he'd pick on any of my numerous signals."

"But you can't _really_ blame Jeff, I mean that kind of stuff is hard for some guys-" I start.

"Says King Oblivious, himself!" Nick teases, referring to boy drama from our high school days.

_No argument there_.

I'd missed these guys so much from our time at Dalton. I couldn't believe it when I'd found out Jeff was a bartender here. I always make a point of stopping by every once in a while to catch up, only this time Nick showed up halfway through, to see Jeff. I hadn't known Nick was in New York so we've had tons to talk about. I've had so much fun reconnecting with my old teammates that I have no idea how long it's been since we got here.

I check my watch.

"Damn! We've been talking for a _while_!"

I look around for Rachel, Finn, and Kurt, but I can't spot any of them.

"Who're you looking for? You're not meeting someone here, are you?" Jeff asks excitedly.

_I wish._

"No, no. Just some friends. Who don't... appear... to be here anymore..." I trail off, craning my neck to no avail. "Well, it was awesome seeing you guys again."

"Likewise." Nick says.

"I guess I'd better go..." We say our goodbyes, and I step outside to make a call.

She picks up on the fourth ring.

"Blaine?" Rachel asks.

"Where _are_ you guys? I can't find anyone..."

"... Um, home."

"You're home?! What, you guys just left me here without a word?"

"Of course not! Kurt stayed... He said he'd tell you..." Rachel sounds as confused as I feel.

"Well he's gone and he didn't tell me anything." Now I'm slightly irritated. "... I guess I'll just head back then..."

"Okay. Sorry about that..." Rachel apologizes.

"It's fine." I hang up after we say goodbye.

I start walking down the street, but blocking my path a few buildings down is a small crowd of people gathered around some guys who appear to be brawling on the sidewalk.

I roll my eyes, labeling them off as _drunk idiots_ as I pass by.

However, a flicker of bright blue in the corner of my vision catches my eye... _Wait- is that my shirt?_

I inhale sharply.

Oh, _fuck_.

* * *

**A/N: Don't worry about Peter, I'm pretty positive we're never gonna see him again.**

**This chapter was difficult to write for some reason. Also, I've never experienced child abuse so I tried to keep it relatively light and I don't want to offend anyone for any reason... I was just trying to add onto my story...**

**Sorry this chapter was so angsty (unless you're into that like I am)... Just happened...**

**Anyways, I hope you liked it!**

**Reviews are welcome and they make me happy! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_**(BLAINE'S POV)**_

Kurt looks pinned against the wall, and my insides turn to ice when I think for a moment that he's being attacked. But a second later, Kurt flips them around- and, with their roles reversed, grabs the guy by his jacket, pulls him forward, and then slams his bulky frame against the wall, the guy's cap-covered head connecting with the bricks, making an audible _whack!_ sound. He goes cross-eyed and that's when I run forward.

"Hey! Easy, easy!" I shout, coming up behind Kurt. I shove my hands through the space beneath his underarms and loop them up and around so that my palms come to rest on the back of his neck, effectively incapacitating him. (Which is not an easy feat, given that he's got a few inches on me.) "What are you _doing_?!" I yell as I pull him back, his legs flailing. The other man slumps to the ground, conscious but disoriented.

"Blaine, get _off_ me!" Kurt struggles to free himself, but all it results in is him wiggling his arms around in a ridiculous manner.

"_No._" I say stubbornly.

"You're making me look _stupid_!"

"Well you're _being_ stupid!" I say harshly, Kurt hyperventilating.

I stand there, immobile, just waiting for him to relax.

It takes a little while longer, but eventually Kurt's efforts begin to die down. The small crowd starts to disperse, and by the time the last spectator has left, Kurt is no longer putting up any resistance. He turns his head to the side slightly, and says quietly, resigned, "I'm good, I'm good."

I feel his back expanding at a slower, even rate against my chest with every breath he takes, and the one eye I can see at this angle seems to have lost its fire.

"Okay." I mutter, unclasping my hands and slipping them from under his arms, back to my sides. I want to shove my hands into my pockets- it's freezing out and I don't have gloves- but I leave them where they are, just in case.

Kurt straightens his clothes, and runs his hands through his hair a couple times.

"Sorry." He mutters to the guy leaning on the wall.

"Yeah, _fuck _you." He spits.

"_Shut up._" Kurt snarls, taking a step towards him.

"_Hey._" I move in front of Kurt. "Who hit first?" I ask. All the witnesses have left already and I have no idea how long this had been going on or which one of them could claim self-defense.

"The _twink_ did." The guy says, glaring daggers at Kurt.

Kurt points at him. "I _said_ shut up-"

"Kurt!" I look him in the eye, waiting. I'm starting to get really pissed off and he can tell.

"_I_ did." He says angrily.

"Shit_._" I murmur. I turn to the guy still leaning on the wall. "You gonna call the cops?"

He rolls his eyes. "I'm on parole, so no." _Of course you are._

I sigh in relief.

"So _you_ better not either." The guy attempts to threaten.

"O_kay_. Can you stand up?" I ask him.

He looks insulted for some reason, pushing himself up off the ground and getting to his feet. He sways a bit and has to grab the wall for support, but he looks like he can make it.

"Okay, we're leaving." I grab Kurt's arm and haul him along, starting to make my way back home. About 20 feet later, I turn back to make sure the man's not following us. However, when my eyes find him, he's walking (albeit, somewhat difficultly) in the other direction, lighting a cigarette.

I look back at Kurt, who won't meet my eye.

"So you wanna tell me what the hell that was about?" I ask.

"_No._"

"Kurt-" My words die in my throat when I see tears shining in his eyes, reflecting the light from the street lamps. He sees me staring, and turns his head away.

"Damn it, stop looking at me. You're always _looking_ at me. _Everyone_ is always looking at me." He rubs his eyes with his (my) sleeves.

"I-I just... don't understand you." I murmur cautiously.

"Yeah, nobody does."

I roll my eyes.

"Oh, don't give me that crap. I bet you _lots_ of people do. Or they _would.._. You kinda strike me as the type who doesn't _let_ people get to know you."

"No, I'm more of the type who's learned to live with the fact that people won't _want _to."

"Well how do you know if you don't try?"

"I can't try."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about."

Silence.

"How much longer till we're back at the apartment?" Kurt asks.

"A few blocks. Don't worry, I took the long way." I say, knowing full well that we're taking the exact same route as before.

He huffs. "Thanks. _That's_ what was worrying me."

"Are you all right, but the way? No broken bones or concussions or anything?"

"I feel fine."

"_Do_ you?"

"Physically? Yes."

"Mentally?"

"... I feel like I normally do."

"Which is...?"

"Fine."

"Well, now I know that's bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"You always beat up strangers when you're 'fine'?"

"... Yes."

"Really?" I deadpan.

"Really."

"Kurt, I'm being serious here."

"I don't wanna talk about this with you."

Ouch.

"Well if you won't talk about it with me then who _will_ you talk about it with?"

"Why do I have to? Like you said, it was stupid." He replies curtly.

"Well I didn't mean it like _that_-"

"Can we not? I'm starting to cry again..." Kurt tips his head back and blinks really hard.

"Kurt-"

"He called me a faggot." Kurt says, rushed and uncomfortably.

I stop walking and so does he. I wait for the rest of the story but it doesn't come.

"Wait- that's all?"

His eyes narrow.

"What do you_ mean_ 'that's all'?" He asks angrily.

"Sorry, it's just... I hear that all the time." I shrug.

"Well, I _don't_."

We start walking again.

My heart begins to ache softly. _Have I really heard that hateful word so often that it doesn't even bother me anymore?_

I look over at Kurt, whose face is all hard lines and anguish and glistening tears, and try to sift through my memories. I try to think of the one of the first times I'd been called that, back before Dalton and sheltered lifestyles and no-bullying policies. I try to remember how it had felt. How degraded and humiliated I had been.

Suddenly I get it.

I grab Kurt's arm and stop him again. We're only about 30 feet from our apartment.

I make eye contact and say, "I'm really sorry that happened to you."

"I'm not gay." He responds immediately, eyes looking around as though he's afraid someone else might hear us.

"Okay." I nod.

"I'm _not_." He defends for no reason.

"No one's saying you are." I tilt my head down to catch his eyes. When they finally meet mine, his face crumples unexpectedly. I grasp his shoulders and step forward, embracing him tightly. A moment later I feel him arms snake around my back, his fingers digging into my skin. His chest starts spasming violently with each breath, moving mine with it in it's tenacity.

* * *

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

I can't. Stop. Crying.

"Oh great, now I'm ruining _two_ of your shirts." I can barely hear my own voice, muffled by Blaine's shoulder as my tears spill onto the fabric. The one _I'm_ wearing is dirty and wrinkled (and _also_ tear-stained) and it's just awful.

I can't stop bringing up this goddamn shirt and it's not even a _thing_ and it shouldn't even matter but for some reason it _does._

Clearly I should just stick to Finn-type shirts because it's all I can handle.

"Kurt, just forget about the shirt, alright?"

But I can't stop because now a fucking dam has broken and everything around me is a crisis.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." I chant into his shoulder, my voice sounding all high-pitched like it always does when I let myself really _cry._ It's cracking again from disuse and that thought just makes me cry harder.

"It's okay," He sighs empathetically, rubbing my back in a soothing circle. "It's okay, Kurt."

And for a moment I let myself believe him.

* * *

It takes nearly ten minutes for my cries to subside, and another twenty for my face to start returning to its normal color. Not long after that, we decide to go inside, a calm quietness settling over us.

I zip up my jacket to cover the rumpled clothing, and pat my hair down as best I can, before turning to Blaine.

"Did he get my face?" I ask, the cold air combined with my now too-tight-skin making my face too numb to tell if he'd hit me.

"Doesn't look like it." Blaine replies somewhat solemnly.

We step inside the building, and soon enough I open the door to the apartment to find an anxious Finn and Rachel sitting on the couch, both of whom stand up upon our arrival.

"Kurt! Where were you?" Finn asks.

"What?"

"Blaine said he couldn't find you." Rachel states.

"And you weren't answering your phone..." Finn adds, clutching his own in his hand.

I reach into my pocket to take mine out to see 4 missed calls from Finn.

"I had my phone on silent..." I murmur absentmindedly.

"Dude, I was so worried, we didn't know where you'd run off to..."

"Well, I'm a big boy, Finn, I can take care of myself." I don't dare look at Blaine as I say this, because obviously our little rendezvous outside proved otherwise.

"I know that, man, but we're like- the two amigos. I thought you'd just disappeared without telling anyone and- I don't know, I just started freaking out... It seems kinda dumb now, but..." He shrugs.

I don't know what makes me do it (perhaps I hadn't gotten it all out of my system outside, or maybe I'm just human-contact-deficient, or maybe I've just been spurred on by the idea that _he_ was worried about _me_- he was _worried _about me?!- ) but my legs move of their own volition and I hug Finn.

It's a very short, tight hug, full of testosterone-filled slaps on the back, but for some reason I feel like crying again afterward. I've never initiated anything like that and although a hug is not a big deal, it certainly feels like one.

"I'm all right, Finn. I was just..." I can't think of a good excuse. I turn to Blaine, who's smiling softly, my eyes pleading.

The smile wipes off his face instantly, and a fraction of a second later he says, "He'd just gone back to find Mercedes again before her band went home."

"Yeah," I say. "I thought I'd remember how to get to the other bar, but I didn't, so I just walked back to Scandals." _Well, Kurt, you just took a perfectly good set up for a fake story and butchered it. _"I forgot to tell Blaine you guys already left."

Luckily for me, Finn sometimes can be as gullible as he is tall.

"Aw, that sucks, bro. Next time."

"Yeah, next time." I say, relieved. "Look, I'm gonna go take a shower." I announce to the room at large. I know I took one earlier today but I feel grimy and I _need _one again.

Finn nods, so, without further adieu, I make a beeline for the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

* * *

_**(BLAINE'S POV)**_

"Okay, I think I'm gonna go to bed. It's late." Finn turns to Rachel.

"I'll be there in a minute." She smiles at him.

"Alright. Night, Blaine." Finn says to me before heading to their room and closing the door.

Rachel instantly turns to me.

"You know, Finn might have believed that, but Kurt is a terrible liar." Rachel states bluntly.

"No. He isn't." I say. Tonight has only confirmed my theory that Kurt hides way more than any of us know about. This only peaks my curiosity. Is Kurt gay or was it just the stress of the night that made him break down like that?

He flirts with that girl Mercedes, then flips out in the face of homophobia. He tries to convince me he's straight, then starts sobbing when I don't question him.

God, Nick was right about the whole 'King Oblivious' thing. I can barely interpret regular signs, how am I supposed to decipher mixed ones?

"What aren't you telling me?" Rachel asks skeptically.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do I mean?"

"What do you _think_ I mean?"

"I'm serious, Blaine. Something happened and I'd like to know what."

"Nothing happened. I found him and we went home." I hate keeping things from her. I hate it so much but this isn't my news to share. If Kurt had wanted everyone to know then he would have told them himself, instead of blatantly lying to his own brother, however weak that lie was.

"A whole hour and a half after you called me?"

She's exaggerating a little but I nod anyway.

She sighs, defeated. "Do I have anything to worry about?"

"Not that I know of, no."

With one last piercing look, she shrugs slightly. "Okay... Well, goodnight, Blaine."

"Night." I smile sadly.

We both part ways, going to our respective room in awkward silence.

_Well, tonight was a disaster._

* * *

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

_Well, tonight was a disaster._

Standing in my boxers in front of the mirror, I turn from side to side, examining my body.

I've already lost about 3 pounds in stress weight since I moved in, but you can't tell.

I look down at my legs. Now that I'm inside and the adrenaline has worn off, my shins are sore and aching, and now I know why. There's an array of bruises forming on the tender flesh, ugly black and blue splotches dotting my skin.

That asshole was a major kicker. I'm just glad he wasn't wearing steel-toed boots, otherwise I'd be in real trouble.

My spine also hurts, as well as the back of my neck, which had also been scraped a little on the bricks.

But the worst part of it all, the spot that I can barely look at for more than a few seconds, is the skin above my collarbone and the nasty, purple hickey that's formed there. A stomach-churning, horrifying reminder of what I've done. What I gave into.

Sure we didn't kiss on the mouth but somehow that's only worse. I let a man put his lips on my skin. I almost got intimate with a stranger I hadn't known for a day. I let him lick my neck in a back alley and I didn't even like him.

I let a "_him_" do that!

Disgusted, I turn toward the shower.

What is wrong with me? Being with a girl doesn't feel right, being with a guy doesn't feel right...

I remove my underwear and turn the shower nozzles on, not even bothering to punish myself with the temperature. I just want to wash Peter's dried saliva off of me. I want to stop feeling so tarnished.

I shampoo and condition my hair, but no matter how much I scrub my body, I just can't get clean.

* * *

_**A/N: I don't care how convenient it is for the guy to be on parole, I don't know enough about legal stuff (wow that sounded smart) for that to turn into anything, plus I didn't want to deal with courts or cops or anything...**_

_**Sorry for any grammar mistakes- (I think I said before that I don't have a beta) it's hard to proofread your own work.**_

_**Please review and/or let me know if you think I'm going in a good (however angsty) direction with this story, I get so self-conscious with every post haha.**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: Sorry this is chapter is a bit awkward looking. It's a little shorter than normal but next chapter should be like usual. :)**_

_**I also want to thank my new beta MissJezkah **__** for helping me clean this chapter up! You're awesome :)**_

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_**(FINN'S POV in New York City)**_

_[Three weeks later]_

_"How's the job hunting going?"_ Burt asks over the phone.

"Good, good. I just had an interview a couple of days ago for a job as a, uh, sales assistant?"

_"How'd it go?"_

"Great, I think."

_"Are you even qualified for a job like that?"_

"Yeah, I mean, I took care of a lot of that kind of stuff at the shop, so..." It's not like I lied or anything... At least, I don't think so... Does it count as being a 'sales assistant' if that wasn't what your job was actually called but you still did the some of the stuff that job includes?

_"Well, alright. You know, I'm proud of you Finn. You're doing well."_

"Thanks. I mean, at least for a while I am. Maybe later I can try to work my way up to some other kind of job that pays more."

_"Rachel's working too, isn't she?"_

"Well yeah, but, only when gets a role... I mean, she's a pretty big name in the off-Broadway world, so, any day now she'll get her big break..."

_"I'll keep my fingers crossed..."_ Burt says and I smile. _"So, um, how's your brother doin'?"_

"Kurt? He's fine." Why does he always sound so weird whenever he talks about Kurt?

_"He's finding work too? Doin' his fair share?"_ Burt asks seriously.

"He's looking. Hasn't found anything yet."

Burt scoffs at this. _"Right... um, Finn?"_

"What?" I ask, confused at his tone.

_"Listen… If he starts bothering you guys or causing any trouble, just let me know."_

"What kind of trouble?"

_"I'll let you be the judge. He's a little... slower than everybody else when it comes to being an adult and stuff and I don't want him holding you and Rachel back."_

"... He's not, but okay." Kurt isn't holding us back, right? I mean, Blaine's here, and Rachel and I aren't even married so kids are out of the question for a while...

Speaking of marriage, I wonder how I should propose to Rachel... Her birthday's coming up, maybe I could try to get her alone at the end of the night and ask her... Something romantic... Like with candles and vegan chocolate or something...

_"Good. It better stay that way... Oh! Your mom just walked in the front door. Hey, Carole, Finn's already got a job interview!"_ I hear him tell her excitedly.

_"Wow!"_ She exclaims. _"Let me talk to him!"_ There's a bit of static as the phone gets passed between them. Man, I miss my mom so much. Especially her cooking. I think I'd kill for one of her homemade meals right about now...

_"Hey, honey. That's wonderful news."_ Mom greets me, sounding happy.

"Thank you." I grin widely.

_"So, how are you? Everything good?"_

"Yeah, everything's awesome... But I just started thinking about your cooking and now I'm super hungry..."

_"Everything makes you hungry, Finn."_ Mom laughs.

"Not _everything, _Mom_._" I mutter. While I do still have an appetite, I'm not a teenage boy anymore...

"_I'm teasing, sweetie."_ Regardless, I walk out of my room to head to the kitchen to make a ham and cheese sandwich. It'll have to do.

We talk for a while, and I ask her about the hospital ("I've got to cover for so many people now after all the layoffs!").

Soon enough, Kurt gets up off the couch and walks up to me in the kitchen.

"Hey, can you make me one?" Kurt asks, looking pointedly at the ingredients laid out on the counter.

"No, dude, make your own." I tell him, picking up my sandwich and taking a step back to give my brother access to the supplies. Grumbling, Kurt picks up a slice of bread.

* * *

_**(CAROLE'S POV in Lima, Ohio)**_

_"Don't see why you can't just make one more, I mean, all the stuff is already out..."_ I hear someone say on the other line. My heart aches for a moment.

Kurt.

I've just... never been able to figure that poor kid out.

He's always so unhappy, so quiet. I feel like a lot of that is my fault. If I'd just reached out to him or tried harder when he was still a teenager, maybe he wouldn't be so closed off... I've just never known how to connect with him, which angle I could use to bond with him... I've known him for over ten years and I yet still feel like he's a mystery… No hobbies, no opinions of his own…

Burt never really talks about him unless it's to complain. I've tried to talk about their rocky relationship many times but he'll never open up to me about it. He just acts stubborn and closed off. I've never been one for confrontation so this like a brick wall I just can't climb over. I feel like it's driving our family apart though I have no idea if anyone else agrees or even cares enough to do something about it.

Sooner or later it's gonna come to a head and I just hope I'll be able to pick up the pieces.

"Hey is that Kurt? Can I talk to him?" I ask. I wonder if Burt called him yet?

_"Yeah, sure. Hold on... Hey, Kurt, Mom wants to talk to you."_ I hear Finn say.

_"She does?"_ Kurt asks. Why does he sound so surprised?

_"Yeah." _I heard my son respond.

_"Why?"_ My heart falls to my stomach. Why does he feel like there has to be a reason for me to want to talk to him?

_"I don't know." _Finn mumbles before I hear the muffled sound of the phone being exchanged.

_"Hello?"_ Kurt asks hesitantly.

"Hi sweetie." I tell him.

There's a long bout of awkward silence.

"So, are you settled okay? I'm sorry I haven't called yet, I just..." - don't know what to say to you-"... I've just taken on so many shifts at the hospital that I've barely had a minute to myself. I figured Burt would call and tell me, but he hasn't mentioned anything yet..."

* * *

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

That's because he hasn't called yet.

"O-Oh, yeah? I guess he just... hasn't had the time..."

_"I guess so." _Carole responds hesitantly

"Is he there now? Is he home?" I ask nervously.

_"He's just in the next room. Do you want to talk to him, or...?"_

"No. No, that's okay." I look at the door Finn just closed behind himself. "Was, um... Was Finn speaking to him earlier?"

_"Yeah, they were talking before I got home." _She says delicately.

Why hasn't my Dad called me yet? I'm his _son_ and I moved across the country- _why_ hasn't he checked up on me? Why hasn't he _called_ me? Why has he called _Finn_ TWICE already and not me? _Why_?

I feel sick to my stomach.

"Carole, I'm not so feeling so good."

_"Uh-oh."_

"Yeah, so, I think I gotta go. Unless there's something you wanted to talk to me about...?"

_"N-Not specifically, I just... wanted to see how things were going..."_

"Fine. Things are going fine." It's been five weeks since I moved, thanks waiting this long to ask.

_"Well, good... You know, we miss you around here." _She says lightly. Yeah right._ "I miss you." _All of a sudden my throat constricts.

"Really?"

_"Really."_

"I... I miss you too." In some weird way, I suppose I do miss Carole, if no one else.

After another beat of silence, she says, _"Well, I'll let you go... I hope you feel better."_

"Thanks." I hope I do too.

I hear keys jingling in the front door and look up to see Blaine enter the apartment.

_"Bye, Kurt."_

"Bye, Carole." I say into the phone before clicking it off.

"Hey." Blaine greets.

"Hey." I say absentmindedly.

I put the phone back into the dock and leaned against the counter for a moment.

"Everything okay?" He asks.

I meet his gaze for a moment before letting my eyes wander all over his face. There's a hint of stubble along his jawline but I try not to stare too long in case he notices and runs to shave it off. I've noticed that Blaine seems to have this obsession with keeping his face shiny smooth but I like it when the stubble grows out at least every _once_ in a while. He's wearing a beanie to fight the cold; however, the loose hair it isn't covering is currently curling up around the edges of the fabric in the cutest-

_No. Not cute. Men aren't cute so don't think about them that way._

_Fuck, what was his question?_

"What'd you say?" I ask.

"I said 'is everything okay?'"

"Oh. Um..." I almost say yes. Almost. Just to make things easier. But for some reason I just don't. "No. Actually... It isn't."

He looks concerned in a way that makes my heart beat faster.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Uh-oh. Don't think I'm ready for that yet.

I shake my head gently, once again rejecting his is to talk thing out. My eyes never leave his nor the tiny snow particles still clinging to his eyelashes.

But as I pass him on the way to the couch, he grabs my arm. To both of our surprises, I don't flinch this time.

"Look, Kurt, it's been like, almost a month since, you know, Scandals..." He says lowly. My eyes widen. I don't like where this conversation is going. "And we haven't talked about that, either."

"I-I don't see why you always wanna discuss everything- I've gone most of my life without doing that and I'm fi-"

"Don't say fine. The more you repeat that word the less I'm starting to believe it. You already know that that night wouldn't have happened if you were fine."

I swallow and say nothing. I have no better argument now than I did the first time he had said something along those lines.

"I know that I can't make you do anything, but when you _are_ ready- which I hope is really soon- _please_ know that I'm here and that I _want_ to talk. I really do."

His gaze is so intense that I have to look away. My eyes fall to his hand still grasping my upper arm. Suddenly I can't stop staring at it. His hand is so warm and it's been so chilly lately. It's nice.

"I'm sorry." I say quietly. Why do I keep apologizing to him? Why can't I make any progress?

"Seriously, Kurt, there's no need to be sorry." He says earnestly.

"Okay. Thank you, by the way."

Next thing I know, Finn comes barreling out of his room. Blaine drops his arm as we turn to face him.

"So guys- you know how Rachel's birthday is in a few weeks?"

Blaine nods. I didn't know until this very second, but I pretend to agree anyway.

"Well, they're doing a revival of _Wicked_ on Broadway and I was thinking of getting tickets for her."

Blaine face splits into a smile, all seriousness gone. Mine doesn't.

"They are? Can I go?" But then Blaine looks uncertain. "Well- I mean- I guess I should probably go on a different day if you were planning on making it a date, I'm sure Nick or Jeff would go with me-"

"Naw, dude. I'm telling you because I think you should come with us. Isn't _Wicked_ like a thing between you two? She'd be devastated if her best friend didn't go."

"Well thanks, man, she's gonna love this." Blaine looks so happy, like a puppy with a new chew toy.

"And, Kurt? I mean I know you don't like musicals or whatever but I was thinking this could a fun thing we'd all do together. You know, for Rachel's sake."

_Yeah, 'cause the last time we all went out it went so well._

I grab the back of my neck and avoid their gazes.

_Wicked._ Just the name of that musical brings back that awful memory. I start to fidget uncomfortably, pulling on the hem of my jacket.

"I-I don't know, Finn. It's just-" I stutter helplessly.

"Oh, please? It's _Wicked_, you've just _gotta_ come." Blaine says, not knowing that the fact that it's _Wicked _is the exact reason I _don't _wanna come.

God dammit. He has such a hopeful look in his eye and he's already bouncing with excitement. How can I deny that face?

I sigh softly.

"O-Okay." I give in.

_It's just a song, Kurt. There's nothing scary about a song. Dad is miles away and that song is just a bunch of words and notes on a piece of paper. _You_ won't be singing it, someone else will be. You've got nothing to worry about. Nothing._

Blaine claps his hands together once.

"Alright, this is gonna be fun!" He says.

Finn nods with a smile.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." Blaine announces.

We all part ways. I turn to stare at my wardrobe for a long while, contemplating.

I'm not gonna wear a graphic tee to a Broadway musical and I am most certainly not _borrowing_ any more shirts.

A thrilling, yet terrifying thought pops into my head.

_It looks like I'll have to get some new clothes..._

* * *

_**A/N: Okay so I do realize that this is Chapter 9 and we haven't gotten to the dance lessons yet but they will start pretty soon. It was originally supposed to be the main focus of the story but, once I actually started writing it, the focus went more toward Kurt's growth and self-discovery and whatnot instead. I personally like this better, but then again I'm biased ;) Granted, this was a filler chapter, but it's necessary for later developments...**_

_**Hey quick question- is the pacing okay? This isn't gonna be one of those fics where I'm purposefully keeping them apart because they're both too oblivious to do anything- it's more like Blaine is gonna help Kurt help himself and love will be found along the way. There will be sweet moments to balance out the angsty moments, don't worry. Is that okay? I like writing my story like this but if you guys feel like it's dragging on too long then please PM me and let me know :)**_

_**Once again I wanna thank my new beta MissJezkah! This would be a mess without you haha**_

_**Please review! (and sorry for the long author's note!)**_


	10. Chapter 10

_****__****__***IMPORTANT A/N [EDITED] (Also on bottom): Great news guys! I finshed the next chapter! Finally! I just need to look it over one more time then I'm gonna send it to my beta tomorrow. Next chapter WILL be up soon. Hope you haven't given up on me yet! :)**_

* * *

_**Sorry it's been so long but this is literally the only time I can post... Anyways, thank you to my lovely beta MissJezkah! This chapter is my longest yet...**_

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

_I told Finn I didn't want to go to prom so how did I get here? The big gym smells like stale sweat- it always does- only now it's even worse and three times as hot because of all the teenagers packed liked sardines inside._

_Everyone is waiting with baited breath for Principal Figgins to announce tonight's royalty._

_For some bizarre reason I'm already aware of whom the winners are- everyone in this room voted for Karofsky and Santana. I don't know why Figgins is trying to be suspenseful._

_"Your 2011 McKinley High prom king is... Dave Karofsky!"_

_Everyone erupts into a generous round of applause for the guy who tortured them all year._

_Karofsky never did sit well with me. Whenever he wasn't looking at me with a hungry gaze, his eyes went straight to my ass, and it always made me uncomfortable. I clap courteously anyways._

_Karofsky makes it onstage and accepts his crown with a victorious roar, and everyone smiles and claps harder._

_Now Figgins starts to open the second envelope. An excited buzz fills the room- this is the moment everyone's been waiting for. A life-defining moment for some of the girls here. I look at Santana to see her being hugged by all her female friends as though she's already won. However, as my gaze wanders around, quite a large amount of students have their eyes on me, amused grins in their faces. I smile politely back at them, unsure of what is so funny._

_"And your 2011 McKinley High prom queen is..." His brows furrow for a moment, much to my confusion. "... Kurt Hummel."_

_The room is so quiet I'm positive that everyone can hear the sounds of my heart fracturing._

_Now they're all looking at me with barely concealed mirth and hatred burning in their eyes._

_I seek out Finn, the one person who can give me solace right now, only to find him walking toward the exit with Rachel on his arm, shaking his head. But wait- didn't he take Quinn to prom? He turns his head and our eyes meet._

_Disgusted. He looks disgusted._

_And then he's gone._

_This isn't how it's supposed to go. I'm supposed to be at home. Finn is supposed to burst into my room and announce that Quinn is mad at him because Karofsky and Santana won instead of them. And I'm supposed to play video games with him until he feels better and forgets about the whole mess. This isn't-_

_"Come on, Kurt."_

_My head whips up._

_Dad?_

_Burt Hummel is standing on that stage, Figgins nowhere in sight._

_He holds up something shiny for me to see._

_"Come get your crown, buddy. A queen like you needs one." His hostile gaze never wavers._

_My eyes prickle at the awful, mocking tone of his voice, and I take a step back. Only, something feels off, and I look down at my outfit._

_Oh god, why am I wearing a kilt? Why did I think a kilt was a good idea? What is even happening-_

_Someone in the crowd starts chuckling and all of a sudden the entire room is laughing at my expense, some people even having the audacity to point at me._

_I press my hands to my ears but I can still hear them cackling just as loudly. I squeeze the sides of my skull so hard my head starts throbbing but it only makes everyone laugh louder, clutching one another as they try to catch their breaths._

_But the worst part of it all is my smirking father, up on that stage in front of everyone, dangling that goddamn tiara at me._

* * *

_**(BLAINE'S POV)**_

I have an early class today so I'm the first one up.

I get dressed in a pair of navy blue sweatpants and a grey Henley shirt before heading to the kitchen to make breakfast.

I walk past a sleeping Kurt on the couch and go to the stove to make scrambled eggs.

A little while later, I scoop my eggs and some microwaved bacon onto my plate, and head toward my room. However, just as I pass the back of the couch, a loud _gasp_ startles me so badly I nearly jump out of my skin.

Kurt's head flies upward, putting him in a sitting position, one arm holding him up and the other pressed against the side of his face. He's breathing hard and his eyes are watering.

I change my route, instead moving to sit in one of the chairs next to the couch.

"Bad dream?" I question, setting my plate on the coffee table.

"More like nightmare." Kurt murmurs.

"What happened?" I ask.

He looks at me with a cautious stare, like he isn't sure what he should do. His lips are about to form a word but then his eyes flick to Rachel and Finn's room.

"They're asleep." I assure him.

"I had a dream about my junior prom." Kurt says, looking at me like he hopes I'll drop it. So, naturally, I don't.

"Did something bad happen at your prom?" I question, a bit confused about why prom had elicited that kind of reaction out of him.

"No. I didn't go." He replies with a frown.

"Why not?" I ask, getting a little sidetracked.

"Wasn't feeling well that day." Kurt responds unconvincingly.

"Right... Uh, anyways, what happened in the dream?"

"Look, I don't feel comfortable talking about-"

"You'll feel better if you share it. Everyone always does."

He looks at me hard for a moment before sighing.

"I dreamed that... that I was voted Prom Queen."

I almost laugh. I cannot say how glad I am that I didn't, however, when I see the serious look on his face. In a different situation- with a different person- that dream would've been comical. But not now.

"That's awful."

"That's not the worst part." He says throatily, moisture gathering in his eyes again. _Oh damn_,_ I didn't think he was gonna cry_. I wait for him to continue. "M-My dad, he- _shit_-" Kurt mutters, wiping his eyes. He clears his throat before getting out, "My dad was there waving the crown in my f-face and he had this _look_ in his eyes-" Kurt cuts off suddenly, swallowing hard, and says no more. He digs his hand into his pocket and appears to be holding something, but I can't see what.

"Are you guys not on good terms?" I feel so bad asking question after question when he's this upset but, now that he's actually answering some of them, I just can't stop.

"He _hates_ me."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm not Finn." He says matter-of-factly, as though that explains everything. The muscles in my face go slack at the curveball he just threw at me.

I don't know how to respond to that. Luckily I don't have to because the sound of people stirring in Finn and Rachel's room reaches our ears. Kurt instantly clams up, shooting a worried look at the door, his eyes wide and red-rimmed.

I push my plate of semi-warm eggs and bacon toward him.

"You want something to eat?" I ask tentatively, understanding that our previous conversation is over now.

"Isn't this yours?"

"I'll grab something at Starbucks." I tell him, moving to stand up. I'm gonna be late if I don't head out, but I put a hand on his shoulder and say, "Are you gonna be okay?"

He nods and hesitantly lays a heavy hand over my own, squeezing it for a moment before moving it back to his lap.

I smile sadly and get a watery one in return. I make my way to my room just as Rachel exits hers. We greet each other and continue on our paths.

I grab my bag and walk out of the apartment, noticing Kurt already starting on the plate of food.

_I've been pushing and pushing for him to talk to me, and now that he's starting to, I have nothing to say. Great._

* * *

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

_Blaine was wrong. I don't feel any better._

I squeeze the Swiss Army knife in my pocket harder.

_Don't you, though? _My subconscious whispers to me.

"Morning Kurt!" Rachel says on her way to the kitchen.

"Morning!" I call back.

_God, Blaine's probably laughing at me all the way to Starbucks..._

_I need to take my mind off of this._

I walk over my dresser, which has a rumpled up piece of paper on top. I unfold the note, smoothing it out with my hand. I then grab my phone, which had been lying right next to it, and step out into the hallway to avoid being heard. Once I'm a fairly good distance down the hall, I dial the number before I can chicken out.

_God I hope she doesn't think this is some weird idea for a date._

_"Hello?"_ Comes a voice on the other end.

"Mercedes?" I ask timidly.

_"This is she."_

"It's Kurt. From the bar...?"

_"Of course I remember you, Kurt!"_ She laughs. _"What can I do for you?"_

"Um, I'm not really sure how to ask this... Well, Finn got some tickets to see a show for Rachel's birthday next week."

_"... What does this have to do with me?"_ She questions curiously.

"I'm not the most fashionable guy-" Well that didn't sound gay. Good job Kurt, carry on. "And I'm sure Rachel would kill me if I showed up in flannel..."

_"What about that outfit you wore the other night?"_

"Yeah, that shirt is ruined and I kind of need some help picking out new clothes-"

_"Wait a second. Are you asking me to go shopping with you?"_ She asks excitedly.

Men don't shop. They go into stores and buy things.

"Well I-I suppose for lack of a manlier word-"

_"Yes! Kurt, you asked the right girl."_ I hear her smiling on the other end and it's contagious.

"Are you free today?"

_"You're lucky, I just so happen to not have plans at the moment."_

"Great, can I pick you up around... Eleven?"

"Sure. I'll text you my address."

"Okay, see you soon."

"Bye, Kurt."

We hang up and I may or may not have just done a happy dance in the hallway. It's not like anyone can see me here.

I just made plans. On my own. Without Finn's or Blaine's or Rachel's help. I feel like I'm flying.

* * *

_**(MERCEDES'S POV)**_

Is this a date? Does clothes shopping with a guy count as a date? 'Cause that sounds kinda... funky. I just don't know. Either way I'm glad he asked me because, judging by the outfit Kurt is wearing right now, he needs a new wardrobe.

"So, where do you wanna go first?" I ask as we prowl around the mall.

"Anywhere. I have no idea what any of these fashion labels mean." He says, gesturing toward the Michael Kors store we're currently passing.

"Well I've got a pretty good idea..." I say dragging him into the store.

God, finally a guy who doesn't think of these designers as "too gay" or "too girly." Kurt must be really confident with his sexuality to trust me to take him to these places.

"Okay, so what's your style? Like what type of clothes are you into?" I ask him. I need to know where to start.

"I don't know."

"Well what type of outfit do you want to wear to Rachel's thing?"

"I don't know." He shrugs.

"Kurt, I'm willing to help you but you've gotta work with me here." I deadpan.

"Really _I don't know_- what do people normally wear to shows and stuff? I've never been."

"Hold up- you've never seen a show before? How can you possibly live with Rachel and Blaine if you've never seen one?" _What the hell is wrong with this boy?! He's got so much to learn if we're ever gonna go out again..._

"I don't really like musicals... Okay, that's not true. I've just never had a chance to see one."

_Whew! That was a close one. That was almost a deal-breaker. Alright, I can work with this. With him._

"Okay, well people usually wear something not too formal, but not too casual."

"What the hell does that mean?" He asks, his face scrunching up a cute way.

"Well that's what you have me for." I chuckle. "Let's get to work!"

* * *

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

Oh. My. God.

I've never tried on so many fucking clothes in my life.

It's exhausting and... _Exhilarating._

I find it increasingly easy to chat with Mercedes. We people-watch and laugh a lot and model outfits, and I keep asking her as many questions as I can in each store we go into.

_"What's this fabric?"_

_"Chiffon."_

_"...And this one?"_

_"Polyester. Stay away from that."_

_"Which stripes are fattening?"_

_"Vertical."_

A lot of times I think I know the answer to the questions I'm asking, but having her confirm them makes me feel like there's hope for me after all.

It was very difficult at first for me to try on the clothes, however, because Mercedes always insisted that I come out of the dressing room so that she could see for herself. And obviously the scrutiny of others never fails to terrify me. Especially Mercedes' keen eye. Although, I've done it so many times today that I've started to get used to it.

But trying on shoes is my favorite.

"Alright, how about these?" I ask as I finish tying the knot on my pair of Doc Martins.

Mercedes herself had said that everybody should have a pair. Luckily I have some cash saved up because I never used to spend any extra money I had.

"They look great. Do they fit?" She asks, smiling as she tries on a pair of heels herself.

I stand up and walk around a bit.

"Seems like they do. I think I'm gonna get them." So what if I can't wear them to the theater? I still have that pair of dress shoes I wore to my dad's wedding and these Docs are so cool. I decide to splurge just this once because I _never_ splurge. "And you should get those, they make your legs look great." I compliment, nodding toward the magenta pumps now in her hands.

And maybe, just _maybe, _on the way to the checkout desk I switch my pair with some white Docs when Mercedes isn't looking.

But it's when we go to try on button-up shirts that I start to get a bit uncomfortable.

All the changing rooms are full so Mercedes suggests I try it on out here.

"Mercedes, I'm not gonna take my shirt off in the _middle_ of the store." I hiss.

"Kurt, we're _right_ next to the changing rooms. No one will care- you've got a tank top on underneath, right?"

"_I_ care. And yeah, I do." I pull on my undershirt a tad so that she can see.

"What's the big deal? My friends and I do it all the time." She remarks, not unkindly.

"I'm just, uh, self-conscious about my body..." I mutter, flushing. This is only half-true. The main reason is because I don't want her to see the scars on my arms. There are too many for me to hide.

"Okay, okay." She relents. I smile gratefully at her, and she returns it. However, the skin around the scars gets almost unbearably itchy and tingly now that I'm so aware of them, and I have to work hard to not scratch them.

We finally get a room, and about ten minutes (and many shirts) later, I come out to find Mercedes holding up a dress.

"I'm gonna go try this on." She tells me before heading toward the women's fitting room. She emerges in a red, floor-length gown with a slit going up the leg. She does a little twirl and I laugh.

"Stunning. Absolutely stunning." I say, shaking my head. And it's true.

"Why thank you. Too bad it's worth more than my last paycheck." She sighs, and I lament with her. "I'm gonna go change, do you wanna meet over there?" She asks, pointing to a different area of the store. I agree and we part ways.

However, as I'm weaving through the racks, I get stopped by a woman holding a shopping bag and wearing tall heels and a crisp blazer.

"Hi, my name is Harper Ruiz."

_What the_-

"K-Kurt Hummel." I respond, shaking her hand. Her sharp cheekbones and determined gaze is scaring me a little.

"You have a great face, Kurt." She comments.

"Thank you?" I say earnestly, albeit confusedly.

"Have you ever thought about modeling?"

My eyes go wide.

"Uh no, no I haven't."

"Well I think it'd be a great option for you. You should consider it and give me a call." She tells me, whipping out a business card.

I almost scoff, almost refuse her offer. But I chance a look at the card only to see a single word on it that has my heart rate tripling.

_She works for VOGUE?!_

I snatch the card with trembling fingers.

"It was a pleasure meeting you." She smiles.

"Yeah, you too." I get out before she turns and walks off in another direction, the _click click click_ of her heels echoing in my ear. I stare at the card for a solid minute and let myself fantasize, just for a moment, what it would be like to be a model. To make a _career _out of peoplelooking at me_._ Now that's an insane idea. But maybe it could be a way in. A way past the barrier and into the fashion world.

I sigh and slip the card into my wallet just as Mercedes sidles up next to me.

_Who am I kidding? This whole ordeal is unbelievably ridiculous. I need to get back to reality._

Mercedes and I grab our bags and head out to the car.

The drive back is surprisingly quiet until Mercedes finally decides to break the silence.

"So who was that woman you were talking to?"

"Who?" I ask, playing dumb.

"That woman you were talking to at that last store. It looked kinda serious..."

"Oh, I have no idea. She just asked me where the food court was." I lie pitifully, hoping she believes me.

"Oh." _Doesn't sound like she does_. "Okay." _I'll take it_.

Silence. Mercedes turns on the radio.

"So, Kurt, I've been meaning to ask you..."

"Yeah?" Why do I feel so nervous all of a sudden?

"Was this a date, sort of? Are we dating?"

_Shit._

"I-I don't know." I stutter. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea..."

She nods knowingly.

"You don't like me?"

Oh god, why do we have to do this now?

"No, Mercedes, I like you a lot- and I had a great time today." I say whole-heartedly.

"Then what is it?" She asks softly.

Warm hazel eyes and sweaty curls fill my vision, making it somewhat difficult to drive.

"I-I just- I like somebody else." I say with a sigh.

"Why do you sound so upset about that?" She chuckles.

"It's just complicated 'cause we live together-"

Her eyes widen.

"Rachel? You like Rachel?" She asks disbelievingly, her mind jumping to the only other female in my apartment. I supposed it's logical. So I roll with it.

"Yes. For several years now."

"So that's why you wanted to get all dressed up for her birthday..." She murmurs to herself. "Kurt did you seriously ask me out so that I could help you look good for another woman?" She chuckles.

"Well I didn't know this was a date!" My lips twitch, a smile threatening to break through. I am so fucking glad Mercedes isn't mad at me.

"Oh it most certainly is a date now." She laughs and I join her, the slight humor of the situation combining with a slight awkwardness to make this seem funnier than it actually is.

"Whatever you say."

"Kurt, that is your _brother_'s _girlfriend_. You better watch yourself." She says seriously. My eyes meet hers for a moment.

"I know. I would never try anything." I try to suppress the shudder that arises at the idea of trying _anything_ with _Rachel._ Dear god.

"Good."

We pull up in front of her apartment, but before she can step out, I say, "Mercedes?"

"Mm hm?"

"Might you wanna hang out again sometime? I meant it when I said I had fun, and- and- I don't exactly have a lot of friends." _Or any, really. _I gaze at her hopefully.

"Of course. How can I refuse that look?" She grins warmly and I return it.

"Thank you for your help today."

"It was my pleasure." She pats my arm and steps out of the car with her new stuff. I wait for her to get inside the door of her building before I take off.

I hum along to the radio all the way home.

* * *

_**IMPORTANT A/N [EDITED]: **__****__****__**Great news guys! I finshed the next chapter! Finally! I just need to look it over one more time then I'm gonna send it to my beta tomorrow. Next chapter WILL be up soon. Hope you haven't given up on me yet! :)**_

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_**And while I'm at it- (sorry it's taken me so long to say) thank guys for the lovely reviews you have been posting! They make me so happy and they always inspire to keep writing so I cannot thank you enough for the support you've given me and this story.**_

_********__ALSO: To address the Kurt/Mercedes scene at the end, the inspiration was obviously from the early season 1 storyline where Mercedes had a crush on Kurt. Only I figured that now that she's an adult, Mercedes would take it better than she did as a young teen. (aka, smashing Kurt's car window. Although, I don't really think most teens are that ballsy in real life anyway...)_


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: OH MY GOD you guys! How are you all? It's been WAAAY too long since my last update. Basically, wifi sucked while I was away, and I didn't have any time for writing like I thought I would've. I wrote on the plane, like almost half the chapter. But then when I got back home, I decided it was awful so I deleted it and started it over. I'm still not entirely happy with this but I think I just have that pre-posting jitters I always get before I click the update button.**_

_**I'm sorry if the spacing is weird or if the chapter isn't that good. I had to write this because it leads to the next chapter where I wanted a whole block of space for the next few scenes. I also needed to write something a little easy because I need to get back into the swing of things again. I have horrendous writer's block right now plus Corey's passing really hit me hard and I felt uninspired for a long while. On top of everything, school started up again last week (*sobs*) and I already feel like pulling my hair out because I have SO MUCH freakin homework already it's actually ridiculous. And it's only gonna get worse.**_

_**However, I plan to write whenever I get the chance because this is a real stress-reliever when I get into it. And I love hearing from you guys and knowing that people are still reading this. (People are still reading this right? Have I been away too long?)**_

_**Sadly my beta was unavailable this week (completely not her fault, she even offered to help anyway) so I did the best I could because I wanted to publish this as soon as I was done. So I'm sorry for any mistakes. And I'm sorry for the long A/N! Happy reading!**_

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**Chapter 11**

_**(KURT'S POV)**_

"Good mornin', good mornin',

We've talked the whole night through

Good mornin', good mornin' to you..."

_All at once my dream shifts. I'm in my old room, the one where Power Rangers fresh from their make-believe weddings litter the floor and a _Singin' in the Rain _poster decorates the wall._ _My bed feels big and my limbs feel tiny and somehow I just know that today is a _very _important day._

"Good mornin', good mornin'

It's great to stay up late

Good mornin', good mornin' to you!"

_A drowsy smile spreads across my face as my mom finishes singing the next verse noisily beside to my bed._

_"Come on, honey! You don't wanna be late for school!" She tells me._

_Now I remember why today's so important!_

_My eyes fly open and I scramble out of bed as quickly as my little legs can carry me. My mom laughs at me while I pass her to go to my closet door, where an outfit I picked out myself is resting on a hanger on the doorknob. It's not everyday you start kindergarten. I just _have_ to look my best._

_"Breakfast's in five, Kurt. Hurry up!" Mom calls with a smile as she heads down the hall, her heels clicking abnormally loudly._

_The world starts blurring at the edges and fading until all of a sudden..._

I crack my bleary eyes open to the sound of Rachel Berry singing.

_"When the band began to play _

_The sun was shinin' bright._

_Now the milkman's on his way._

_It's too late to say goodnight."_

For a moment I just lie there on the couch, listening to the sound of her voice. It's been _months _since I've dreamed about my mom. With a soft smile on my face and the image of her standing in my room still fresh in my mind, I get up off the couch and make my way to the kitchen. Everyone is already in there, and at this point already joining in on some verses. Rachel is prancing around in a pair of tap shoes and sporting a megawatt grin.

"And good morning to _you_, Kurt." She says happily.

"Morning."

"Today is a _very_ important day." She tells me, sounding a lot like my dream. Which, to be honest, weirds me out a little.

"Is it?"

"Mm hm." She nods.

"Could it have something to do with your birthday?" I ask slowly, my eyes flicking to the tiara on her head.

"How did you know?"

"The 'Happy Birthday' crown was a dead giveaway." I joke.

"Yeah, the whole song and dance thing isn't really out of the ordinary when it comes to Rachel..." Blaine says.

"Well I can't help but sing how I feel!" Rachel says in song, to make a point. "Sorry I woke you up, Kurt."

_You mean your intention _wasn't_ to wake up the whole state of New York? _I chuckle internally.

"No, it's fine. I love _Singin' in the Rain_... My mom used to sing Good Morning to wake me up for school when I was little." I remember fondly.

"Really?"

"Yeah. She had an awful voice." I laugh, and they join me. I feel warm all over and I can't wipe this smile off my face.

Finn says, "Alright Rachel, we're giving you your presents now because there is something we all have to do later..."

Blaine runs into his room for a minute, I assume to retrieve his present for her. I walk back over to the couch and pull out a box from underneath it. Something I had bought for her while on my shopping trip with Mercedes.

"We're gonna do something? What?" Rachel bounces excitedly.

"All in good time, Rachel." Finn says.

I place my box in front of her before going to the cabinet to grab a bowl and a box of cereal. I can hear her tearing the wrapping paper open as I pour some milk over the cheerios. I bring my breakfast over to the counter she's leaning on just in time to hear her cooing over the gift.

"It's from me _and _Mercedes, I suppose. She helped me pick it out." I admit, considering I was completely lost when it came to what I should get Rachel myself.

"Kurt, it's gorgeous." Rachel says, holding up the soft, cream-colored scarf. "Thank you!" She hugs me quickly and I hold on tightly, mainly as a thank you to her. For letting me stay in her home, for giving me a way out of Lima.

Blaine comes back out and gives her his gifts, (Bath and Body Works lotion and a pair of pink heels she'd had her eye on for a while) and by the time they're done, Finn is nearly jumping up and down in anticipation.

"And from me..." Finn begins. Blaine uses the countertop to give him a drumroll, and I laugh. "Tickets to Wicked for tonight, and dinner in a secret location." He say, whipping out said tickets from his back pocket.

Rachel gasps- actually gasps, like for real- and squeals. It's pretty ridiculous looking.

She throws herself into Finn's arms. "That's amazing! This is gonna be so much fun!"

Finn laughs and hugs her back.

"So we're all going?" She asks him.

"Of course." He responds. My blood runs cold at the reminder. I've been dreading this musical for a while now.

She gives Blaine and me huge smiles just as a cell phone starts ringing.

"Oh! That's my dads' ringtone!" She exclaims. "I'm gonna go tell them!" She gives Finn a quick peck on the lips and then skips off to her room in an excited flurry.

It's quiet for a moment, all us guys standing in the kitchen, looking at each other.

"I think you did well, Finn." I say quietly to him.

"I think so too." He smiles.

I decide now is probably the only time Rachel won't be glued to Finn's side today.

"Listen, I'm not sure if I can go tonight." I say cautiously.

"What?" Finn utters, Blaine asking "Why?" at the same time. Their harsh stares send my heartbeat into overdrive. I can hear it pounding in my ears, and I swallow hard before I attempt to explain myself.

"I-I'm just-" _Afraid. Not sure if I'll make it through that god forsaken song. _"Musicals just aren't my thing." I say for the millionth time. I sound like a broken record. _Why did I surround myself with theatre enthusiasts?_

"You just said you love _Singin' in the Rain._" Blaine counters.

"Well that's different-"

"You told me you'd come." Finn says.

"I know, b-but-" _Stop stuttering, Kurt._

"You waited until _now_ to back out? _Today_?"

"I-I didn't know how to tell you-" _I _said _stop stuttering._

"Kurt, you have to come." Finn pleads.

"Why do I _have_ to come? _You're_ her boyfriend." I tell Finn, feeling defensive. "_You're_ her best friend." I tell Blaine.

"You're her friend too now." Blaine argues, eyebrows furrowed.

"Kurt, please? I was planning on asking Rachel tonight. You know, _asking_ asking." Finn lowers his voice as he pats his jacket pocket.

My eyes widen. "Wait, really?" _Fuck, tonight?_

"Ask her... what?" Blaine responds slowly, disbelievingly.

"Finn's gonna pop the question tonight." I say bluntly.

"Oh my god!" Blaine exclaims loudly, turning to Finn as he claps his hands together. His face splits into the biggest grin I've ever seen. He looks absolutely radiant and I can't tear my eyes away and- great. Now I'm smiling like an idiot at him.

_Just relax your face. It's not that difficult._

But no matter how hard I try, my grin is locked firmly in place

"Shhh!" Finn gestures toward Rachel's closed door.

"Sorry! Sorry! I'm just- I'm so excited!" Blaine stage whispers. "Oh my god, Finn." Blaine hugs Finn out of the blue, and even though it's awkward and comical, it's incredibly sweet all the same.

Finn laughs and then turns to me.

"Kurt, I really need tonight to go perfectly. And I need my little bro by my side." He lightly punches my shoulder.

"I'm older than you, Finn." I remind him, but I feel a swelling in my chest at the term of endearment.

_Little bro._

My _little bro._

Ugh, and now I just know that I'll do whatever he asks of me to help him out. _Dammit, why did he have to say that?_

"Whatever, man. Will you please come? Please? I'm begging you."

I stare at him in silence for a moment.

_Whoa_.

I've never had anyone actually beg me to do anything before.

_Hm._

I look into Finn's pleading eyes, and then Blaine's, and then Finn's again. Fuck, this is exactly why I had said yes in the first place! What is wrong with me? Why did I even bring this up?

Damn it.

Damn it damn it _damn_ it.

"Okay." I'm gonna regret this. "Okay, fine. I'll go."

* * *

Around midday, Finn and Rachel go out for a lunch date.

Just as I'm about to figure out what to do with myself in the meantime, Blaine comes out of his room holding up a DVD I know all too well by now.

I quirk a curious eyebrow at him, to which Blaine responds, "It's time."

"I'm sorry?"

"You said you don't like musicals-"

"Right."

"- Which is ridiculous-"

"Excuse me?"

"So I've come to change your mind." Blaine says, brandishing his copy of _West Side Story_.

"Oh."

"You don't have plans for today, do you?"

Ouch. I almost scoff.

"No."

"Good. So sit down on the couch. This is happening." Blaine grabs my shoulders and steers me toward the living room. I'm so surprised (and kind of excited, actually) I don't even have the presence of mind to tell him that I already watched it on my laptop the other day...

Blaine gets everything set up and then plops down on the couch next to me, clearly pleased with himself. Without another word he picks up the remote and presses 'play.'

_What an odd turn of events... _I think.

We watch the film in semi-comfortable silence for the better part of two hours. Blaine has been singing along quietly to each song that comes on, his face glued to the screen in child-like fascination. He's also been fidgeting almost constantly, as though he can't quite sit still when there's music playing.

"Do you know the words to _every_ song in this?" I muse, turning my head fully towards him.

Blaine mouth twitches upward as he nods. "Of course. I even know all the dance numbers."

My eyes widen. "Wow, um, why?"

"My high school did a production of West Side Story. I must've watched this like a million times back then."

"I thought Dalton was an all-boys school?"

"Well yeah, but we teamed up with Crawford Country Day, our sister school, for girls."

"Let me guess, you played Tony?" I ask, my mind already conjuring up a picture of Blaine singing with some faceless Maria-

"No, actually, I played Riff. They offered me Tony, but- I mean- I more of a dancer than a singer, so..."

"Didn't you say you were the lead in you show choir group?" I ask, remembering that snippet of conversation between Rachel and Blaine in the car ride home from the airport weeks ago.

"Well yeah, but- don't get me wrong, I love singing- but if I had to choose there'd be no competition. Tony just wasn't as involved in as many dance numbers." Blaine shrugs. _Must be nice to just be able to _pick _whichever male lead you want. _"Ooh, this was one of my big solos." Blaine says as the scene with the song "Cool" starts up.

"Riff doesn't sing this." I counter.

"In the play, he does." Blaine corrects, tapping his feet along to the beat. I look at him and smile slightly at the energy practically bursting out of his skin.

"Show me." My mouth says before my brain can decide otherwise.

"What?" Blaine laughs.

"You're a dance teacher and I never even seen you dance."

"That's because I work in my studio. With my students."

"Exactly. You do this for tons of students almost every day. There's only of me. Come on, the floor is yours." When he still just sits there looking bewildered and amused, I add, "How am I supposed to learn to appreciate _live_ performance if we're watching a _TV_ screen?" I gesture toward the open space next to the television. I really hope he agrees, otherwise this could get really awkward and I am getting so tired of awkward.

Blaine eyes me contemplatively and I can tell he isn't sure what my motives are. I suppose this is a little out-of-character for me... Or a lot out-of-character..

"Okay." Blaine says out the blue, a wave of excitement seeming to overtake him.

"Really?"

"Sure, why not." Blaine hops off the couch and sashays toward the television like a big shot. "You sure you'll be able to handle the awesomeness?"

"Don't go getting a big head. This is far from Broadway." I joke.

"Quiet, I'm getting in the zone." Blaine commands as he closes his eyes, but there's a small smile curling his lips. My heart is beating so hard I can practically feel it pounding against my ribcage.

Blaine takes a deep breath in and holds it. A moment later the instrumental part of the songs starts up. He releases the puff of air and breaks out into a flurry of movement.

It's funny how easily your mind can change when you see things from a different perspective.

My whole life listening to my secret West Side Story CD, and finally watching the performance on DVD last week for the first time, I had always thought this song was awkward. I can't really explain it, it just never resonated with me like the rest of songs did, and the dancing seemed a bit odd.

But watching Blaine dance to it, with his twirls and jumps and high kicks... I'm seeing it in a whole new light. His movements are graceful and fluid, as though a day hasn't gone by since he last did it, even though it's probably been years.

I can see his muscles stretch and flex and move underneath his pliable yet pleasantly formfitting clothes.

How clever I am, to have somehow tricked Blaine into letting me stare at him shamelessly. I can't tell if I should pat myself on the back for being so damn cunning or feel guilty for being such a pervert. I decide I don't really care.

_It's Blaine's fault, really, for being such a compact bundle of firm muscles and adorableness..._

_... Um..._

_... Did I just think that? Me? Were those words actually a product of my own mind?_

Fuck, but I can't help thinking it. He was so sweet to me the other day and watching him dance has ignited something inside of me. It's making my skin tingle with the need to touch him...

I sit on my hands.

Blaine chuckles breathily as his limbs splay outward in time with each gun shot sound in the song. I grin at him.

_Jesus, I can't remember the last time I had thoughts like this._

I mean, there was a brief period in high school when I thought I liked Finn... I used to get so damn excited whenever he and Carole dropped by the shop... And then Carole started showing up by herself even when her car didn't need fixing... But then once my dad asked her out I knew my little fantasy had to stop. I managed to squash the crush soon after they had moved in because otherwise I'd be in deep shit. And I just couldn't risk that. 'Cause living with somebody you like can only end in disaster.

Blaine strikes a pose on the final "pow!" of the song. I erupt in a round of applause just as Blaine dissolves into a fit of laughter. To my surprise (or maybe I shouldn't be so surprised at all?) the sound is like music to my ears. I find myself wanting to make it happen again and again and... and...

_Oh god, I am so screwed._

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_**A/N: Don't worry, the next chapter will be more fun. But an update is better than nothing, right?**_

_**Up next: Wicked and a Finchel engagement. And we all know what that means, right? (points to story summary) It's almost time for Klaine to get their dance on! Woot woot!**  
_

_**Anyways, please review! I love reading them.**_

_**Also if you have any suggestions or anything you wanna see in this story, PM me about it (or email me, my email is in my bio) and I'll see if I can make it happen. I've already had a couple people do that and it makes my story so much fun plus it include you guys and I love you guys. Don't be afraid to suggest anything, I don't bite :)**_

_**P.S. The stuff Kurt says about "Cool" is how I **_**used _to think, but after watching the movie again recently I realized how great it is and how much I love the song. So no need to panic ;)_**


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